Dogs of War
by TriggerHappyWorld
Summary: Summary: 'Bobby, at the time, didn't understand why the tycoon wanted him when he could have hired anyone, even an entire law firm, to represent him. All the man said was that he wanted the best, and the best was him.' B/A, Alternate Universe, x-over with L&O and LO:SVU. Since this is an AU, some characters, even main characters, do not have the same jobs as they did on the show.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is an Alternate Universe story inspired by, well, a lot of things. I've taken a lot of liberties and I've done a lot of research so all errors are mine. Crossover with L&O and SVU.

**Pairing: **B/A

**Rating: **T (M for selected chapters)

**Warnings: **All the usual; if a certain chapter requires additional warnings for subject matter I'll pre-warn.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the characters created by Dick Wolf. However, I do own what I've created.

**Summary: **Bobby, at the time, didn't understand why the tycoon wanted him when he could have hired anyone, even an entire law firm, to represent him. All the man said was that he wanted the best, and the best was him.

* * *

Prologue: _South Korea, 1988_

It took one strand of hair found on the last victim that finally lead them to their killer. They had been tracking the serial killer for six months and now they had him. At the moment, he was bunkered down in small wooden shack only fifty miles from the border that separated South Korea from the communist North.

Bo-Jing Tao was a taxi driver in the city and he would use his taxi to hunt. Finding women, and even men, and killing them. He performed sadistic rituals with their bodies and organs, and then he would disappear, back up into the hills, to this house, and out of the police radar until he was ready to do it again.

He tapped the magazine into the magazine well of the rifle, gave it a tug to make sure it was secure. As he took aim he heard someone coming up behind him. Turning his head away from staring down the barrel of his rifle, he saw Declan kneel down two feet behind him.

"You got him, Bobby? In your sights, I mean?"

Bobby nodded before returning to his task. Steadying the butt of the weapon against his left arm, he got down into the prone position. Fitting the butt of the rifle high on his left shoulder, he took aim once again. Switching the rifle off safety and setting it for semi-automatic, he took a deep calming breath and then waited with his finger on the trigger. He was the best marksman out of the twelve men who went up into the hills of South Korea to take down Tao.

"I hope we're able to take him alive," Declan was saying. "He's still a mystery to me. I would like to study him more, talk to him, find out his story…His arch."

Bobby couldn't help but listen to the man he had for the past six months he not only called his colleague, but also his friend and mentor. The FBI Agent had found his way around his defenses and implanted himself in his life. He had shown him a whole new light and with that a new way of living. A life where he could use his knowledge, his instincts, and his obsession to profile a person's mind. Declan taught him how to tune his already keen intuition into his most powerful tool.

"What if we don't have to kill him, Bobby? I don't want you to kill him."

Bobby blinked back as his focus blurred downrange. The sun was setting and the light was fading all around them. Looking over the front of the house, he told Declan, "We've already set the plan in motion, Dec. We can't just suddenly change it. There are ten other people here set up all around this forest ready to take this guy down one way or the other. It's up to Tao whether or not he lives or dies."

"But, what if we can talk to him? I can talk the FBI guys down, and you can talk your men into waiting as well, all that's left are the locals."

He felt the heat pulsing through him as Declan asked him that. This was ridiculous. "Why didn't you bring this up sooner? I'm not talking my men down; it's too late."

"You're their superior, they'll listen to you."

"And as their superior I'm going through with what was planned by not only the FBI but CID as well. I'm not putting my gun down to go out into the fatal funnel to tell them to do the same so that you can possibly _talk_ to him. Fuck talking, Declan. He killed fourteen people, and God knows how many more who are unaccounted for."

"Yes, exactly. If we kill him think of all the families that won't have answers? Who won't get justice?"

Bobby had to admit, Declan had a point. It was just at the moment, time wasn't on their side. The sun was almost completely set, soon there would be no light in the thick forest. "It's too late. I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do about it now."

As if on cue, the radio broke its silence. "Tiger One, Tiger One, this is Tiger Two, over."

Bobby lifted the radio up as he answered, "Go for Tiger One."

"We're approaching on the east bank, Tiger Three on the west. Keep the front secure. If anything goes down and you get a shot, take it, over."

"Roger that, Tiger One out." Bobby dropped the radio to the ground as he took aim once again; he took deep breaths to slow his adrenaline as he waited.

"We're the only two out here in the front. If Bo-Jing comes running out, we can get him without killing him."

"I'm not abandoning my post. If he runs out here, I'm firing." Bobby didn't say anything else as he kept his attention on the front of the little house that was settled down in the valley below him.

His position was up on a hill, above the valley, so he had a clear shot at Bo-Jing at almost any angle. Plus, it kept him out of the line of fire. He heard movement behind him and then nothing. Bobby figured that Declan had resigned in defeat and had moved to a safer distance.

A few minutes later, he saw movement down in the valley to his right and when he looked his breathing stopped. Declan was approaching the house. There was one of two things he could do: keep his position and hope the other units get to Tao before Declan made it to the house, or abandon his position and get Declan out of there.

Getting to his feet, he slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder as he took off on a dead run down into the valley; hopefully he could get in front of Declan because that stupid man was going to get his fucking head blown off by either Tao or a stray bullet from friendly fire. Once he was on level ground in the valley, he pulled the rifle off his shoulder he set it for burst. As he was gaining speed and ground on Declan, the front door banged open.

Tao was running out, a gun in hand and was firing backwards into the house as gunfire exploded in the night. In the darkness, he could see the ignition of fire from the bullets leaving the gun as he collided with Declan, sending him to the ground. Losing his footing, and tripping over his friend, he tumbled into the side of the house and right into Tao's line of sight. Up until that moment, Tao hadn't noticed them in the darkness and in his frenzied tunnel vision eyes.

Bobby brought the rifle up the moment Tao turned to him. Gunfire rang in his ears, burning his sense of sound. He watched the fire from Tao's own gun as he emptied everything he had left into the air, the ground, and the wood of the house. All the bullets from Tao had miraculously missed him and he watched as the killer flew backwards onto the ground. He didn't think Tao was still breathing when he hit the dirt. But the bullets from inside the house kept coming, splintering the wood and sailing into the darkened night.

He reached for his radio and felt the empty spot on his gun belt as he took a step back. "Declan-"

The moment it took his mind to register that he had left the radio on the hill, he saw it. From the light of the moon which broke through the foliage of the jungle, he saw the grenades strapped to Tao's chest. Pins in hand.

Before he could get out a breath, an explosion knocked him off the ground, throwing him backwards as gunfire still erupted into the night. The unmistakable feeling of shrapnel ripped through his body and legs. Then a pain exploded in the back of his head as he screamed out. He hit the ground hard, landing on his back as everything went black and his hearing stopped.

He felt dead. He couldn't hear or see a thing as he struggled to get out a breath. As the fog of sound filtered back into his head, he heard the faint blasts of gunfire ceasing as a pain unlike anything he had ever felt filled his head.

"Bobby!" Declan yelled; the sound of it was muffled in his ringing ears. "Bobby can you hear me?"

Bobby tried to open his eyes, tried to see something as his body began to shake from the intensity of pain that spread in his chest, back, and head. There was nothing in his legs. He couldn't feel a damn thing in them.

"Help! Sergeant Goren needs medical, now! Get the chopper up here! Bobby, Bobby, stay with me. We'll get you out of here."

Bobby didn't know if he gave any indication or not; he was growing weak and tired as he searched the darkness for some light. There was too much darkness around him that he couldn't see Declan or the sky. He couldn't see anything. The weight of fatigue was pressing down on his eyelids, making it hard for him to keep them open. That was when he realized that the reason he couldn't open his eyes, was because they were already open. The burning pain he felt was easing, numbing, as his body's shaking stopped.

He was dying. That was the last thought he had before slipping into a dark abyss of unconsciousness.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

_New York, 2004_

_Bobby's Brownstone_

_Prospect Heights, Brooklyn_

"Wake up! It's five o'clock on a rainy Monday morning. This is Rick Clancy along with Amber McEwen, and this is the Rock Show on WNYC, the listener voted number one radio show in the state of New York. Before we dive into the morning news, weather, traffic, and baseball. That's right, Yankees, Red Socks, game 1 of the American League Championship Series, the quest for the World Series, starts tomorrow night. We'll get all the listeners thoughts and opinions about tomorrow's game. But first, we'll get you up and going this morning with the classic Boomtown Rats song _I Don't Like Monday's_."

Bobby woke from his restless sleep as he listened to the radio. The song was the perfect choice to play on a rainy Monday morning. He wasn't liking the day already. Groaning into the pillow, he rolled onto his side and then his back as he rubbed at his eyes. Today was the start of a long work week and he had to get an early start. He had to be in court at nine and then he had a couple of meetings to sit through before he had to be in court again later in the afternoon.

Mondays was the jumpstart day to the whole week. It was the make it or break it day for him; it got everything rolling and it was time to get up and embrace it. Reaching down toward his waist, he his hand rubbed over Atticus who was asleep on his legs. Smiling, he rubbed at the Labrador's fur until he found his leg and grabbed it.

Atticus made a sound and shifted off his legs.

"Wake up, sleepy head."

That got the dog up. Atticus crawled up the bed to his side, causing Bobby to laugh. He had the dog for six years, since he was two weeks old, and he never ceased to find the dog amusing. Atticus pawed at his chest, waiting for a command.

"What?" he asked the dog. Rubbing that the dog's head and ears, he told him, "C'mon, it's time to get ready."

Atticus barked as he got up and jumped down off the bed. The blanket started to move over his chest and he knew Atticus was pulling the blanket off him by using his teeth.

"You're too smart for your own good, dog. Go…find my shoes."

Bobby heard the dog give a bark before taking off in search of the shoes. Rolling onto his side, he sought out the buttons on the radio and turned the volume up before sitting up on the edge of the bed. Rubbing at his head, he felt the pain behind his eyes and groaned a little as he stood and maneuvered around the bed and into the bathroom. Leaving the door open as he did every morning, he started to get ready for the day.

Using his sense of smell and touch, he easily went through his Monday morning routine of brushing his teeth and shaving. He heard Atticus coming up behind him. The dog dropped a shoe to the floor and then left the room again. The shower was the last thing for him to do.

By the time he left the bathroom, twenty-five minutes had gone by. Running his finger over the tabs on his hangers, he choose a black suit, blue dress shirt, and the blue tie with diamond shapes that Denise had gotten him for his birthday a few years ago. After pulling on his shoes that Atticus had brought to him, he completed the attire by sliding the tie clip on which held his initials R. O. G., and then headed out of the bedroom.

It was a little after six o'clock by the time he made it into the kitchen and grabbed a thermos off the counter. Filling it with the coffee that had been brewing since five-thirty he emptied the pot and placed it into the sink. His cleaning lady Mrs. Bennett would take care of it for him when she got there at ten.

Atticus barked at him from the other side of the kitchen. Looking toward the dog, he told him, "Go out." The dog obeyed, going out through the doggy door and into the small yard that really wasn't a yard, but it served its purpose for the dog.

Putting the lid on the thermos, he took a few cautious sips as he left the kitchen. Atticus rubbed against his side. Reaching down, he felt the harness in the dog's mouth. Taking it, he put it on the dog before going over to the desk by the front door. He grabbed his keychain, wallet, the leather laptop briefcase, and then finally his folded up cane. The only time he used the cane was when he knew Atticus couldn't help him go to where he wanted to go.

Atticus whined, making him remember.

"Right. Go get your bag."

Atticus took off down the hall only to return a few seconds later. Kneeling down, he took the small treat bag from the dog's mouth and made sure it held all the supplies for Atticus like his food, a bottle of water, a bowl, treats and toys, before letting the dog take it back into his mouth.

As soon as he was out of the door, and he'd slipped on his sunglasses, he heard, "Good morning, Bobby."

Smiling, he called out, "Hey, John," as he headed toward where the voice had come from, and where Atticus was leading him. "How was your weekend?" Bobby asked his friend, and driver, as John opened the backdoor for him.

"Oh, it was great. I went fishing with my sons, and got to spend time with my grandson Nate," John answered as he waited patiently for him to get into the car. "Atticus," he said as he bent down to greet the dog. "You're such a good boy, yes you are."

Bobby laughed at the playfulness as he put his bag on the middle seat before taking the bag from Atticus's mouth and tossing it in the back.

John Eames was seventy years old and a veteran of the NYPD. Eleven years ago he had been caught double-dipping from the city, collecting a pension while also working for the city parks. Once the Brass found out about it they tried to get a case going against John with the DA's office to strip him of his pension along with the money he owed back to the city. It had been his fifth case and his first that he had been willing to go to trial for.

After less than a week of deliberations, he got the prosecution to settle with a deal that left John his pension, but he still had to pay the money back. It didn't matter to John if he had to pay back the money because he got to keep his pension and with it his benefits. John had been so grateful that he offered to be his personal driver, even doing it for free. Bobby couldn't have been more accommodating, but he still paid John with cash every week for his services.

Bobby put his thermos into the cup holder before getting into the car. After he was situated, he patted the seat next to his. "Atticus, c'mon."

Once the dog was in and he was buckled in, Bobby told John, who had gotten into the driver's seat, "Okay, let's get this show on the road. Where'd you want to have breakfast?"

John smiled as he answered, "I'll take us over to Tony's in Hell's Kitchen. I've been craving his omelet and pancakes."

Bobby nodded as he hooked up flipped open his cell phone. "Great, while we're over there I might be able to visit one of my clients."

"Oh yea, who's that?"

"His nephew." Bobby folded down the table that he had installed on the back of the passenger seat before opening the briefcase. Taking the laptop out, he put it on top of the table and flipped it open. He turned it on and while he waited on it to boot up, he spoke into the phone after he'd been prompted, "Call Denise."

After two rings, Denise picked up.

"Hello?"

"How's the baby?"

"Bobby, I wasn't expecting you to call! My baby, God, he's doing great. He's healthy and big, just like his daddy. I'm being discharged today."

"I'm glad to hear that; so, what's the little guy's name?"

He could hear the pride in the new mother's voice already as she told him, "David Jonathan Matheson III . Davy for short."

Bobby couldn't help but laugh at that; it sounded like such a prominent name to be busted down to just plan ol' Davy. "And how's Davy's mother?"

She laughed a little at that before telling him, "I'm tired and missing his father."

Bobby heard her hesitation and he felt the pained sorrow in his heart. Denise's husband was a Lieutenant in the Army and his unit had been recalled to Iraq for a second tour; because of that he had missed the birth of his son. "Look, um…I called to tell you to take all the time you need. There's no rush for you to come back to work."

"No, it's fine. I want to; I'll be ready to go by next week at the earliest. I was thinking if it's okay with you I'll work out of my home for now."

Bobby had thought of that as well; if she wanted to return to work he would allow her the time home with her son. "Denise, are you sure? You'll be tired and busy with the baby."

"My mother is going to be staying with me for a few months until everything calms down. Plus, I want to work and you need me. Where else are you going to find an assistant as well educated and versed in all things according to the law of Robert Goren? I'm your only associate!"

"And you remind me of that fact every day, that's why I'm not trying to find anyone else. Okay, I guess whatever you want, we'll do. You can work from home for however long you want. I'll, uh, yeah, once I get time today, I'll look over what I've got and what I need. Once you get settled, give me a call. You've got stuff at home right?"

"I've got a computer and printer."

Bobby thought about that as he said, "Have your mother, or someone…Don't you have a brother?"

"Yes, his name's Carl."

"Okay, I'll get in touch with him so he can come to the brownstone and get your stuff for you so you don't have to buy anything. Even if we have to turn your home into our office, we'll get this worked out." It was meant as a joke, seeing how the top two floors of his three-story brownstone was their offices.

"Sounds great. Thanks, Bobby, for being such a great boss and friend. I don't know what I would do…would've done…without…"

He heard her light crying turn to sobs and he immediately felt uncomfortable. Atticus chose that moment to put his head on his lap; he put his hand on the dog's head as he asked, "Uh, are you okay? Denise?" Bobby knew she was; he figured it was from her husband being gone and the fact that she had given birth a day ago.

"I'm fine. I'm just so…Oh!," she suddenly exclaimed, ending her crying. "Don't forget your nine o'clock. Judge Li hates it when you're late."

"He hates it when anyone's late, and I didn't forget because you put it on my calendar. Take care of yourself and that boy of yours, I'll be in touch." Ending the phone call, he flipped his phone shut and put it away before putting in a pair of headphones as he went to work on the laptop.

Bobby loved the world of the internet, and advanced technology; he could get so much done without ever having to run around the courthouses of the city. He could file motions and dispositions and send requests, and do research all at the touch of a few buttons and some short, simple phrases into the microphone piece attached to the headphones. He had programs on his computer for everything; every form he needed was stored and filed away in folders on his desktop all thanks to Denise.

It only took him a few minutes to send a request to Judge Li. Then he sent a pre-trial motion to examine evidence to Judge Thornwood for the following week concerning his case with Matthew Sullivan, Tony 's nephew.

By the time he was done with reviewing his case for the nine o'clock hearing they were almost at Tony's. That was a good thing because he was starving. Rolling down the window for the first time since leaving his home, he heard and smelt the rain coming down outside as John took a couple more turns before parking in a designated handicap space that literally had his name on it. Tony had the space made for him after he had taken on his nephew's case to show his appreciation.

As soon as he entered the restaurant through the backdoor, he was greeted by the chef and owner himself. "Bobby! Welcome, want your usual?"

He smiled at Tony as he stopped at the table he always sat at. It was next to the kitchen and the hallway that led to the backdoor and restrooms, and it had the best view out the front windows. At least that was what everyone told him. He liked it because it was the closest to the kitchen. He could smell all the spices whiffing out through the doors. He heard Billy Joel's _Movin' Out (Anthony's Song) _playing softly over the speakers. "That'll be great, Tony, thanks. Good morning, Estelle," he greeted Tony's wife who he heard talking to someone at the counter.

"Good morning to you, Bobby. I'll get your coffee right to you after I deal with John."

John chuckled at that as he took his usual spot at the counter as he started chatting up Estelle.

Bobby sat at the table and opened Atticus bag. He set the bowl on the floor and unzipped the plastic bag that held Atticus's food in it. Filling the bowl with the food, he asked, "Hey, where's Matt?"

"I gave him the day off. He's running around somewhere," Tony answered.

"Staying out of trouble I hope."

"You're damn right he is. He respects what you're doing for him. He's not going to screw that up. He knows what it'll mean if he does something stupid. Hey, John, stop flirting with my wife. I'm trying to run a business here and all you wanna do is talk to her."

John started laughing as he told him, "You know what I want, and I'll flirt with her anytime I want; she likes me more than she does you."

"Tell that to your wife and see what happens."

Bobby laughed at the teasing banter between the friends as he went over to grab the paper out of the rack next to the door before going back over to the table. Estelle rounded the counter and brought him a cup of coffee with cream.

"You're looking good today, Bobby," she told him as she sat down across from him. Taking the paper from him, she asked, "You feeling good today?"

Estelle was a sweet sounding Italian woman and from what John had told him, she was sweet looking as well, with dark hair and eyes. He knew that the pleasant woman also had a furious temper in her. He had been a witness between a fight between her and Tony once. At the end of it he was feeling extremely sorry for the husband; the woman had torn him apart with just her words.

"I'm doing good, feeling good," Bobby told her while giving her a smile that he hoped convinced her that he was telling the truth. The last time he was there, the pain in his head and leg had been so intense and overwhelming that he had lost his patience with her. "I'm still so sorry about what happened."

"Don't worry about it, we all have our off days. The pain is better though?"

Bobby nodded. "My doctor upped my pain medication and started me on a different a, uh, physical therapy routine. So far, it's helping."

"I'm glad, honey, you deserve the best care," she told him while patting his hand. "So, what'd you want me to read 'bout today?"

"First John and now you, Bobby?" Tony said at his side. "What's with you guys and my wife?"

Bobby smiled as he smelt his food suddenly appear under his nose. "What can I say, she's very beautiful; a heartbreaker."

"Beautiful but vicious. That's how I like 'em."

Estelle smacked her husband hard on the arm as she announced angrily, "I'm not vicious," causing all the men to laugh as she did it.

"Why'd you hit me for?"

Bobby kept laughing as he poured syrup over his pancakes. Giving Atticus a strip of his bacon, he asked, "So, how about tomorrow night's game?"

He didn't have to mention which game. In New York there were only two teams everyone paid attention to when it came to baseball, the Mets and the Yankees. And this was the ultimate championship series showdown between the Yankees and their moral rivals, the Boston Red Socks. Everyone, even Mets fans, was invested in the game. Estelle, who didn't even like sports, got on a heated rant about her dislike of all things involving Boston baseball. She was a woman after his heart, too bad she was married.

* * *

_Criminal Court Building_

_Midtown, Manhattan_

He made it to the courthouse thirty minutes before nine, giving him half-hour to try to talk to Ron Carver before they had to be in court.

"You sure you don't need me to stick around today?" John asked from the front seat.

"No," Bobby told him as he opened the back passenger door and got out.

The rain had eased up yet again and he was sure that the rain was going to be off-and-on all day. Bobby quickly grabbed his briefcase off the seat as Atticus jumped out and waited by his side. "I'll call you when we break for lunch and we'll hit up Sal's," he told John before he shut the door.

Going over to the entrance, he heard as Atticus hit the handicap button to open the door. Once the doors opened, he walked in and then immediately stopped. The noise was nearly deafening. The courthouse on Monday's was always a madhouse. The lines through the metal detectors were almost out the doors. Bobby told Atticus to find Officer Weeks.

Atticus was a smart dog.

"Atticus, hey buddy," Weeks greeted the dog before he ever greeted him. "You in court today, Goren?

"If I didn't I wouldn't be here. It's always crazy on Monday mornings."

Weeks told him to raise his arms, so he did. "Got a trial?"

"Yeah, I've got a few arraignments, a prelim, and meetings for the rest of the day. So, give it to me straight, officer, Yanks or Red Socks?"

Weeks happily declared, "Boston! What'd you expect, my father's from Boston and I like the Socks. They're going to win it all this year, I can feel it."

Bobby laughed and shook his head. "Every time Boston gets close, they choke. You're living in a fantasy world."

"Only on my days off. Take it easy, counselor, and try not to piss some good cops off today by getting their convicted felons off on a technicality or something."

"Who's convicted? No one's convicted yet, and if I get one of my clients off on a technicality, it's the cops own fault for screwing up," Bobby told the officer before he started toward the elevators.

It was nearly impossible to find one that wasn't pack full, but Atticus always ended up getting a good one. Just as the doors were about to close, Atticus stepped halfway into the elevator and stopped, making the doors reopen.

"Good morning, Goren."

At hearing his name, Bobby smiled at hearing the man's voice who said it. "Mr. Carver. Thanks for holding the elevator by the way, appreciate it," he sarcastically told him as he got on the elevator.

"If I had seen you out there I would've," Carver said as he reached down to give his dog some lovin'. He always knew when someone was petting his dog because Atticus made a certain panting sound and wagged his tail against his leg.

There were firehouse dogs and then there was Atticus, the courthouse dog. When they were outside, he had to keep Atticus on a leash, but once inside the courthouse, the dog had free range. Half the Judges in the building kept doggy treats on hand just in case he wandered into their chambers.

Bobby nodded as he asked who else was on the elevator with them. Other prosecutors and one defense attorney he knew from his early days in the Public Defender's office spoke up. "Hey, Beckham, how's it going?"

Jerry Beckham was off to the left and near the back of the elevator. "It's going. I see you're doing well in your private practice."

"I am; hey, if you ever decide to leave the Public Defender's office, give me a call." Bobby then said to the rest of the group gathered in the elevator, "That goes for all of you." That got a few laughs but he knew of one man who wouldn't be laughing. Smiling a little more, he said to the big Executive ADA man himself, Jack McCoy, "Especially you, Jack."

"You should save that arrogance for the courtroom, Goren. And that's Mr. McCoy to you," McCoy reminded him, _again_.

"Oh, don't you worry, Jack, I've got plenty of it to go around everywhere else." He heard Carver softly warn him in annoyance but he also heard the soft laughter that got from Beckham and a few others in the back.

"Keep banging that drum, one of these days it'll catch up to you."

Bobby turned toward McCoy as he told him, "I will, and I'll bang it very loudly against you, anytime, anywhere."

"And that's why they call him 'The Terminator,'" Beckham announced proudly amongst the prosecutors. "Keep banging that drum, Bobby."

"Damn right, Jerry. Jack's just jealous because I'm not a prosecutor. He fears losing to me," he told Beckham as the elevator came to a slow stop.

"Thank God," McCoy suddenly exclaimed as the doors opened, "I don't think I could've taken another floor of your ego boosting antics, Goren."

"Ah, you're just saying that because they weren't for you," Bobby teased as he exited the elevator.

He didn't boost himself up because he needed the encouragement, that wasn't him at all. He did it because he knew it drove the others crazy, especially Jack McCoy. Carver always tended to try and sound annoyed, but he caught the man laughing about it away from the prying eyes of the other prosecutors.

"Carver, we need to talk," he said over his shoulder as he searched the hall for a quiet spot so they could talk. Finding an empty space between two pillars where he couldn't hear anyone close, he turned around to face the prosecutor. Then, he simply told him, "I think we should cut a deal."

"I think you're wrong. I have a pretty good case against Ms. Carlson and once I present it, it will go to the Grand Jury for an indictment."

"My client is not of sound mind to-"

"The doctors declared her mentally competent," Carver stressed. "She knows the difference between right and wrong."

"The court appointed shrink doesn't know what he's talking about. He talked to her for two minutes. He didn't even ask her questions that w-would provoke her psychosis. He didn't do his job. You don't want me to put her on that stand."

"Of course I don't, that's where you usually win your cases. It's funny, most defense attorneys don't like putting their clients up on the witness stand, but you do. You get your client up there, in front of God and everyone else, and you get them to divulge themselves. You expose their reasons and intent and then manipulate everyone into empathizing with them, feel for them, and then they forget all about the people they've hurt or killed. Not this time." Carver went to walk around him when he stepped to his left to block him.

Bobby tried to reason with the ADA one last time; he wouldn't give him another chance to reconsider. "She should be in a psychiatric facility, not on trial for her life."

"Nelda Carlson is a murderer. That's exactly where she should be," and with that, Carver walked around him and continued down the hall.

"I'm going to have my client amend her plea to not guilty by reason of mental disease," he called out. Carver's shoes stopped clicking over the hard marble floor. Bobby turned around took five steps in the same direction. Carver had taken eight, so he knew he'd come to a stop a few feet from him. "I'll plead it and you know I can win it. She's a Borderline Personality and I know exactly how and what to say to get her to _expose_ herself. Once I put her ex on the stand, and then her, the Judge will have no choice but to get her the help she deserves. It won't go to trial. Think about it, counselor." He walked around the man and then headed across the floor toward the courtroom.

Atticus followed.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby heard Nelda Carlson being led into the courtroom by the bailiff. She sat next to him and he heard her moving around in her seat. He knew who she was searching for but he wasn't there. Berry Carlson, her ex-husband, wouldn't show up unless he had a subpoena making him. If they went to trial, that was exactly what he would hit Berry Carlson with, and so would Carver. They both wanted him as a witness for two completely different reasons.

Judge Li entered the courtroom and everyone stood. "Sit," he strictly ordered, and everyone did on command. The Judge was quiet for a moment before saying, "I don't want him wandering around this time, Goren."

Bobby felt Atticus lay down on his feet under the defense table, and he heard a soft whine, almost of disappointment come for his dog at that. Smiling slightly, he said, "Yes, Your Honor."

Judge Li was the one judge that nobody wanted presiding over their case. He was strict and stern and he took no bullshit. The man was a Japanese Warrior; at least that was what Bobby thought of the man sitting up there on the bench. Games were not allowed in his courtroom, so that was why Carver wanted Judge Li.

Bobby was known for the games he liked to play in the courtroom. They were fun and they kept not only him but everyone else, especially the jury, interested in the trial and in what he was presenting to them. Every trial case was won or lost by the jury. The jury was who they played to, who they put every ounce of trust into to do what was right. If he lost the jury, he lost the case. So he liked to keep things interesting.

The tricks, the mind games, smoke and mirrors, and the flamboyant presentations he did were all in the name of getting what he thought to be justice. The courtroom was his stage and he was the master at manipulating it. He could get witnesses to rethink their opinion or to admit to a lie that they had told. And, yes, he had lied a few times. Everybody lied, even the prosecution, but he never tried to win by presenting false evidence; he never tried to win by malice, and he had never resorted to attacking the integrity and the character of a witness.

If the witness was telling the truth, was honest, and presented only what they knew, then he wouldn't try to tear them down by attacking who they were as a person. That was low, it was lower than low, and he didn't do it. He wanted, and needed, the truth to come out even if it meant the jury sided with the prosecution. When the trial was done, whichever side had won, he was satisfied to say that it was all done rightfully and fairly.

It just so happened that he had never lost a single trial case. He had bargained a few, gotten lesser sentences, he had gotten a handful dismissed, and there had been two hung juries but he had never downright lost. Ten years undefeated when it came to the final guilty or not guilty verdict. Not a single other defense attorney could claim that.

Not every criminal in his eyes deserved the maximum of their sentence, or death, or even life in prison. No one deserved to have no chance in Hell at getting a fair trial; that was a civil right that no one should have taken away from them no matter the crime they were accused of. Their intent made them all different. Some deserved the maximum punishment, or life, some even death, if they were cold-hearted killers and rapists. He didn't even want to defend those criminals.

However, most deserved to be listened to; they deserved a second chance at redemption. That was what he offered. He offered to listen and then do his best for them. He offered justice and for some that meant taking a deal, others it meant fighting for a better deal, and then there were the few who he felt deserved a battle. A war fought in the courtroom for their freedom or their life.

There were even times when he was able to convince his own clients of that fact and got them to give up a confession for a lesser sentence. Some even thanked him for it, like Wally Stevens who he still kept in contact with on a monthly basis. Then there was John Tagman. He had gotten Tagman to confess in the interrogation room, ending Carver's quest to seek the death penalty for his client; he had been ridiculed for that decision by not only Carver and the Major Case Squad, but the entire District Attorney's office.

He had a feeling that Nelda Carlson was going to be added to that list. If Carver didn't accept his deal, he would go to war for her. She was mentally ill and she didn't need life in prison, she needed help. Glancing over toward the prosecutor's table, Bobby heard Carver pushing papers around. Bobby knew that Carver had reached his decision.

"Courts called into session. People verse Nelda Carlson; charged with two counts of first degree murder."

Judge Li would address the prosecution first. And he did when he asked, "Is there anything you want to disclose to the court before we proceed?"

Carver hesitated in answering, but then he scooted the chair back and stood, saying, "Not at his time, Your Honor."

There would be no deal. Giving a small smirk, Bobby gave a slight nod before turning his head back to the front, facing the judge.

_Let the battle commence._

* * *

"You did what?" Denise's voice pierced his ear, causing his head to ache.

Bobby told her again even though he knew it was a rhetorical question. He was proud of his bold move. "I plead not guilty by reason of mental disease for Nelda Carlson."

"We didn't discuss that? Bobby, are you…Do you know how hard it is to prove insanity?"

Yes he did, and if there was any one man who could plead it and get the person off on it that man was him. "I did what I thought was best, and right, for her. I know what I'm doing, trust me on this. When it comes to insanity, I'm the guy you go to."

"Well, I can't argue with that one," she said a little too sarcastically.

Bobby smiled even though he knew she couldn't see him. He was waiting outside of Judge Li's chambers. The Your Honorable Warrior wanted to talk to him about the request he filed before court. He figured as he thought about what he knew about Judge Li, that despite his strict courtroom rules, he was probably the best judge he could get for Nelda Carlson. He was a no bullshit kind of guy, if he thought Nelda was unfit to stand trail, even before it began, he wouldn't hesitate to call it quits despite what protests Carver would try to come up with.

Since he did plead insanity that meant Nelda was being transferred to the Seaview Psychiatric Center on Staten Island to undergo evaluations before they continued. Just because the court appointed shrink ruled her mentally competent, that didn't mean she actually was. Bobby had let the institution's doctors know that he suspected Borderline Personality Disorder, if they verified it then that was it.

Then there would be no Grand Jury indictment, and no trial. She would spend thirty days in the hospital to determine her treatment and then he would make another deal with Carver. A deal that was right, a deal that brought closure and justice to not only the dead but the living. He would see to it that Nelda got the help she needed.

"You seriously need me. I can't work from home if you're going to burn your practice down before I ever get back."

Bobby smiled at her dramatic antics; she was only teasing him now and he enjoyed it. She kept his life from sinking too low, from drowning in misery and darkness. He had wished things had worked out with her, but it hadn't. She wanted children and a family and he couldn't give her either. His disability had crushed any fleeting thoughts he ever had about being a parent, a husband. He could still have sex, thank God, but he couldn't possibly fathom the thought of trying to be a father when he couldn't see a thing. How was he supposed to take care of a child when it was so hard for him to take care of himself? How could he ever throw his child a baseball, or do anything else with them?

And he didn't think he would ever find a woman who could tolerate him long enough to be in a long lasting relationship. Denise had tried for six months back in '99 before calling it quits with him, but then she had surprised him by coming to work for him instead of taking a job as assistant to the Chief of Detectives.

She said she couldn't deal with his mood swings; some of it was due to the medication he had to take, but most of it was due to his life. His anger didn't just stem from his blindness, or the fact that his right leg was still screwed despite years of physical therapy. He'd been on again, off again with a cane for nearly ten years now, after finally being able to walk again.

The life he had before wasn't that much better.

His mother was still schizophrenic, the ghost of his dead father still lingered, and his brother was still an estranged gambler and drug abuser that he didn't know anymore. What his life had become after was just as damning. Yeah, he was a great defense attorney and he made a pretty good living doing it, but his relationships had shattered and scattered almost into nothingness. He had a hard time trusting people when he could see; it was even harder now that he couldn't.

His few friends consisted of three people Denise, John, and Mike; and then there were the people he worked with, but no promises of love, and truth be told, sometimes his desire for it didn't even exist. He went through moods of not even wanting to be around people yet alone in a relationship. He even had moments of complete apathy. Then there were times when he felt the exact opposite, when his empathy was nearly overwhelming that it was crushing. When he craved to be around people and wanted someone to be with, when he needed to be loved and give love. The only problem was that he knew it wouldn't last.

The only thing that lasted was his work. It was what he had. It was who he was, it was him, and he enjoyed every heart pounding minute of it. Every case that came his way was something to look forward to; it was a puzzle to solve and a mind to explore, to profile. That profile became the biggest part of his defense along with the actual case evidence. And when he found that something in the mind of his client, or that magic bullet in the evidence, or the lie that spilled from a witness's mouth, or the missing piece in the prosecutions tale then it was all worth it. His life had meaning, a purpose.

The greatest feeling in the world was the moment he knew that he had it, that he could win the case. It was when he had the fucking world by the balls. It was like he could almost see again.

With Nelda Carlson, discovering her mental illness had been that moment, and with that knowledge he was going to destroy the prosecution's case. He was going to tear the walls down.

"Are you even listening to me, Goren?"

Bobby's hand stilled from "reading" over the file he had on his lap and said into the phone, "Yes."

"Then what did I just say?"

The doors to the Judge Li's chambers opened and Bobby quickly told her, "I've got to go." Hanging up and putting the cell in his pocket, he said to his dog. "Atticus, the judge doesn't like you in his chambers, so go wander around until I'm done. Go find a treat." He knew that Atticus didn't understand half of what he was saying but the dog understood enough as he went in search of a treat.

Once he was in the Judge's chambers and the doors were shut, Judge Li asked him, "Do you always bring your dog to court?"

Bobby nodded. "He's my four-legged assistant."

"You could just use a walking stick," Judge Li didn't sound amused.

He was disabled, and he needed his dog…not a fucking stick. A stick couldn't warn him of a danger he couldn't hear coming. A stick couldn't find Officer Weeks in a crowded room or which elevator to get on because it was the one with the fewest people. His dog did that. Yet, he did still carry the stick with him. It was currently in his briefcase.

"I was surprised by your request," the Judge suddenly told him, getting down to business. "I'm not aware of what you're asking for exactly."

Bobby nodded a little; his request had been a little vague, but that was what he needed. "Your Honor, I'm certain that a key piece of evidence is…that it hasn't been found. I want to get a warrant for my investigator, so he can collect evidence from Mr. Carlson's home."

"You want to search the home of a witness?" Judge Li asked, sounding very confused.

"Essentially, yes."

"And what are you searching for?"

Bobby didn't like being lead around in circles, having to repeat himself. "Evidence of my client's psychosis. With her type of, a, uh, of pathology, she had to have given the man that she loves, her ex-husband, something from the victim. This intense connection she has with him is all part of her Borderline Personality, it helps prove my case. I'll give whatever I find to Mr. Carver as well, but I'm sure…Judge, Your Honor, I am _certain_ that this piece of evidence is there."

Judge Li leaned back in his chair and became very quiet as he waited.

He never knew what to expect from the man, having only been in his courtroom twice before and was blown out of the water by his stern, forceful, attitude toward all things, as Judge Li put it, "cleverly disguised horse manure". The Judge couldn't say bullshit because he had said it while in court, but the line had stuck with everyone who had been in his courtroom that day. And as with every line like that, it made its rounds around the courts and now everyone said it as a joke.

Judge Li pulled open a drawer as he told him, "You can only conduct the search if one of the detectives from the case is also present. If you don't find anything, I'll fine you. Here's the warrant."

Bobby reached out in front of him until he felt the folded piece of paper being held out in midair. He tentatively took the warrant as he thought about that. If the search didn't pan out, the Judge was going to fine him? He didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything as he put the warrant in his inside jacket pocket.

"You can leave now. If Jenny's out there, send her in."

Bobby nodded as he moved away from the desk and then left the chambers of Judge Li in complete perplexity. Taking a listen, he didn't hear a 'Jenny'; taking his dog whistle out of his pocket, he blew it and waited. A minute later Atticus hit his leg and was crunching on something. A treat.

It reminded him that it was time for lunch.

* * *

_Sal's Restaurant_

_Park Slope, Brooklyn_

He was in the middle of taking a bite out of the veal parmesan when heard someone slid into the booth across from him, next to John. From the smell of the man's Old Spice aftershave and cologne, he asked, "How's it going, Mike?"

"So, you still eat at Brooklyn's finest, and cheapest, Italian restaurant, huh?" Logan teasingly asked.

Bobby shifted his eyes to him, even though they were hidden by his sunglasses. "Of course I do, Sal makes the best veal parmesan in the five boroughs. And, Atticus is allowed in, that's always a plus. It's not about the price, Mike, but the quality."

"Hum, much like your practice. You're the most affordable private attorney, but the absolute best," Logan said as Atticus's tail started whipping around against his leg. Logan must have found the dog's sweet spot behind his ear.

Bobby raised his glass of wine before taking a sip.

Logan had once been a homicide detective until he punched a city councilman on live TV in front of everyone watching. The Chief had decided to make an example of him and gave Logan his walking papers and nothing else. No benefits, no nothing. To get work, Logan got his private investigator's license and started asking around the DA's office about work as an investigator. None of them wanted him or needed him, but Bobby did.

He had just gotten his license to practice criminal law and was looking to make his presence known in the Public Defender's office. He had heard about Logan and immediately got a hold of him. The detective had been apprehensive at first about working for the defense, but once he heard about what he did for John, it was a done deal. Ten years later and Mike was not only his personal investigator but his best friend as well.

"So, what'd you got going that you need my expertise?"

Bobby pulled out the warrant Judge Li had approved and handed it over the table. "I got that warrant I was telling you about. You have to take one of the detectives along with you while you conduct the search. I guess the Judge doesn't trust you."

"Or he doesn't trust you," Logan said as he took it from him.

"It's the Carlson case right?" John asked.

"Yeah."

"My daughter's one of the detectives on that case," John said. "She'll go with you to search."

"Or Barek," Bobby interjected as he smiled a little.

"Yeah, I'll give Eames a call and see if she's up for it."

Bobby and John both started laughing at Logan's unease.

"Does John know that you have the hots for his daughter?"

Bobby stilled at that. He really wished he could see John just then, to gauge his reaction, but he knew that the old man had to be giving him a death glare. "I-I, uh…shit, John, it's not…I just think she's really intelligent, that's all."

"Yeah right, intelligent and that's all."

"What the fuck, Mike," Bobby bit out in disbelief and anger. "I was only teasing you."

"He was going to find out sooner or later anyway. You're obvious. Every time you're around her you get all flustered and act like an arrogant ass."

"No," John suddenly said, speaking for the first time in minutes. "Bobby acts like an arrogant ass all the time."

Bobby heard the slight teasing in John's voice; it helped to relax him, but only a little. Smiling slightly, he shook his head, "I'm taking the nickel on that one."

"You can't plead the fifth on something you've already been found guilty of."

"Shut-up, Logan," Bobby shot back with a smile as he went back to eating his meal.

"So, you actually think she gave him something?" Logan asked after a couple of moments.

Bobby nodded as he finished off the food. "Yeah, I do. Hey, uh, look for, um…something small, something personal, maybe even uh…something he takes to work, keeps on him. She would want it to be something that he has with him every day, not just occasionally."

Logan sat quiet for a moment before telling him, "That narrows it down….She gave you something."

Bobby smirked at that. "I knew there was a reason I hired you all those years ago," he told him before he finished the wine. "Want something to go? It's on me."

"Nah, I already ate, but thanks." Logan got up but didn't move away from the table. "It wasn't that tie clip was it?"

Bobby stilled and then looked up toward Mike. He had to admit, the man was good.

Logan smiled in triumph. "Six sharp, at the gym?"

"It's Monday isn't it?"

"Don't be a smartass. John, make sure he isn't late."

Bobby listened as Mike left the restaurant and then to the silence between him and John. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, he leaned on the table, and told him, "Look, John, a, uh, about how I feel toward y-your, um…your daughter. I would never-"

The ex-cop suddenly asked, "Have I told you the one about the lawyer in the confessional?"

Bobby stopped talking as he shook his head.

"Well, a lawyer went to the confessional one night. He tells the priest, you know, all the usual 'bless me Father, for I have sinned'. The priest, he asks what has he done, and the lawyer says, 'Well, first off, I'm a lawyer', but before he can continue, the priest says out loud, 'Holy Mary Mother of God, the last lawyer that confessed to me had me stuck here for two days.' The lawyer then asks in confusion, 'There was another one?'"

Bobby couldn't help but laugh while he felt the tension that had built in his body ease. "That's a good one."

"Yeah? I just made it up."

Going through his wallet, he counted the bills in his fingers. He always had the same amount in his wallet every day. A hundred dollars. He had five ones, five fives, five tens, and then one twenty dollar bill. He arranged his money with the ones being in front with the left edges folded down, while the fives after the ones with the right edges folded down, and the tens were folded in half. The twenty was in the back and the only bill not folded in anyway. He took out the last three, two tens and the twenty, and tossed them on the table to not only cover the check but to leave a good tip. "That's forty, right?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Yep."

"Alright, ready?"

"Sure. Are we going back to Manhattan?"

"Not yet; I've got an arraignment here in Brooklyn."

* * *

_NYC Gym_

_East Village, Manhattan_

The rest of the day had been court as usual. The arraignment he had after lunch was a breeze as he got the Judge to release his client, Randal Iverson, after a bail reduction. The young man had been arrested for DUI and possession of an illegal substance, weed. Bobby had only taken the case because the kid's father was an old Army buddy of his, and that Randal agreed to go through three months of drug rehab.

The Judge agreed to his terms after the prosecutor accepted the conditions of his release and that was that until the sentencing. Then he had to endure meetings for the rest of the day which left him wondering why his presence was even required since nobody wanted to listen to what he had to say.

By the time six o'clock rolled around, he was ready for a workout at the gym with Logan. He needed to relieve some of the stress of the day, especially after the meeting he had with Serena Southerlyn. She was an ADA under Jack McCoy and one of the toughest to please, which made her one of his favorites to go up against. He loved his sparring matches with her just as much as he loved his battles with Carver. And, just like Carver, she also loved having it out with him as well. She had practically asked for the case just so she could stretch her prosecutor muscles against him.

"You should ask her out," Logan told him after he mentioned his meeting with her.

Bobby pushed the barbell up as he told him, "I did, remember? Two years ago."

Logan went quiet for a second before saying, "Oh, yeah, right. She refused after you beat her in court."

"That's not why she refused. It just happened around the same time," he explained in a grunt as he brought the weights back down before pushing it back up. "What number am I at?"

"One hundred and fifty-five, fifteen more to go and you'll beat your current record, Mr. Incredible Hulk."

Bobby tried not laugh as he was focusing on not dropping the barbell on his chest. "Shut up."

Logan chuckled as he started counting off the bench presses. "One fifty-seven…one fifty-eight…So, what'd Southerlyn have to say?"

"Oh, uh…" Bobby forgot what he had been talking about before Mike distracted him with the date comment. "She doesn't want to cut a deal. The guy confessed, plead guilty, and I even got him to give up a murderer, yet she's reluctant to play ball with me for a reduced sentence. I'm hoping to get the Judge to rule in my favor at the sentencing. Oh, and I think with the Carlson case, I can get that one settled as soon as she's found unfit to stand trial. And thanks to you and Detective Eames, I've got further evidence to prove her psychosis. That keychain was a hell of a find, Mike."

"It was all Eames." Logan said with a hint of pride in his voice, and a light teasing as he said, "You should _really _ask _her_ out. We got to talking about you during our search. She doesn't completely despise you, and I got her to admit that she thinks you're good looking, you know, despite the fact that she hates you."

Bobby blinked back as he asked in disbelief, "She thinks I'm good looking?"

Logan started laughing. Mike had known, and now so does John, that he's had a crush on the detective ever since meeting her. That had been nearly four years ago. She had been a witness for the prosecution on her second case with the Major Case Squad, and she was tough as nails, just like her father. He couldn't get her to falter and she was sharp, witty, and made him glad she was a cop. She had done a great job on the stand, blocking him at every move, and she had challenged him with her intelligence. He had really liked that.

The fact that he thought her voice was heavenly was an added bonus to her cunning intellect. Then he got Mike into telling him what she looked like; short woman, about five foot three, with blond hair, caramel colored eyes, toned muscles from keeping in shape, and a pair of legs. At least, that was what Logan had thought.

And, as he'd told Logan before, he wasn't a leg guy.

She would have won the case for the prosecution easily, but her partner at the time wasn't as clever. Catching him in a lie that wasn't even necessary, Bobby had torn the guy apart. The next thing he knew, the cop was being transferred to a different department and Eames had gotten another partner: Carolyn Barek, former FBI. Mike Logan was completely enthralled with her.

"Tell you what, I'll ask Eames out if you ask Barek."

"So, what kind of deal were you trying to pitch?" Logan asked, quickly changing the subject.

Bobby laughed, but didn't push it as he let it go. "I want to get his sentence cut down to ten, with counseling, and then a year of probation, two at the most. He has no history of violence. When Major Case busted him, he wasn't even packing."

"It sounds like she should have dealt."

"I think it's McCoy that's actually pushing for her not too. If this goes to trial, it'll run right into the McCullough case. I'll have to juggle both."

"Ah, your major Supreme Court trial case. D.W. McCullough, your sugar daddy. That's going to be a fun one to watch."

"He's not my sugar daddy."

"Keep telling yourself that, maybe one of these days you might believe it. So, wait a minute, what's McCoy's interest in whether or not you're juggling two trial cases?"

Bobby brought the weights back down as he told him, "Because it's McCoy who's prosecuting the McCullough case." He was at one sixty-nine. One more. Breathing out hard, he pushed up and it took nearly every ounce of strength he had left to get it up in the air.

"One seventy! Holy shit, look at you. I bet you could knockout Tyson in one hit," Mike exclaimed as he helped him secure the barbell on the rods.

Sitting up, Bobby took the towel that was tossed on his head and wiped the sweat off his face, neck, and arms as Mike tapped him on the arm with a bottle of water. "Only if he was blindfold," he told him before he took a couple sips of water.

Logan asked as he took some weights off the bar, "How's the therapy going with your leg? You're not limping as much lately."

Bobby shrugged as he answered, "I'm still doing the bike, and they got me doing exercises in a pool now. They think it'll help ease the pain in my back."

"Water sports, huh, that sounds like fun. I think you could take Michael Phelps in the backstroke," Logan grunted out as he heard the metal clicking of the barbell being taken off the stand, but not before Mike had taken off a couple pounds.

Where he could bench press 200 pounds at best, Mike could only handle 150 if he was pushing it. Bobby listened as Logan easily grunted out a fifty before slowing his momentum. He had never been adamant about working out; in the Army, he had kept in shape but didn't stress over exercising and he hardly lifted weights. It wasn't until he had to maneuver in a dark world that he had started obsessing over keeping in shape. He never knew when he would have to protect himself from not only another person but from falling down a hole or something.

What was hard for him to maintain was his right leg strength. Shrapnel from the explosion that took his eyesight had destroyed his right leg, and then a stray bullet had damaged his spine. After three back surgeries, he had finally regained his ability to walk, but the damage done to his leg was irreparable. It could get better, but never completely healed. He had nothing left in his knee as far as cartilage went, and he had bolts and screws and pens and titanium bars and hinges. But that did nothing for the muscle loss. He would probably be using a cane on and off again for the rest of his life.

Right now, he was off it. He was handling the pain well and the physical therapy was rebuilding a lot of strength. He really hoped it stayed that way.

After Logan was done, they headed over to the bench that he used to do sit-ups. Mike had to help him with this task because he had to be almost upside down with his feet locked under the foot bar to do them, and his leg was hard to adjust at times. He couldn't bend his right knee a complete ninety degrees without nearly crying out in pain. Plus not being able to see the foot bar presented a challenge. Once he was lying on his back with his head angled toward the floor, and his arms crossed over his chest, he started.

"So," Logan said, "McCullough, double murderer."

"Alleged double murderer," he reminded him.

"Whatever," Logan said in annoyance. "Anyway, it's your biggest case ever. Blockbuster trial movie in the making. It's right up there with 'To Kill a Mockingbird', 'A Few Good Men'….'My Cousin Vinny', and you're going up against the big man himself, Jack McCoy. You've never gone up against him before. He's good; really good, and he just might break your undefeated record."

"Thanks for the confidence. And do you know why he's so good? He bends the rules, he breaks procedure and he stretches his ethics until they're virtually unrecognizable."

"And you hate him? I would think you would love him. He's like you, except older, grayer."

Bobby huffed out a breath of air as he shifted his eyes toward Logan, giving him a blank glare behind the sunglasses. "Hey, I still hold true to my ethics."

"I'm just saying. It's going to be tough, especially since your client's guilty."

Bobby had to stop talking so he wouldn't lose count in his head. He was at a hundred already. After a moment of counting, he said, "According to the law, he's innocent until proven guilty."

"Spoken like a true lawyer. We both know he did it so cut the bullshit."

"Yeah, well, like I said, it's not proven and I still have to defend him."

In his ten years as an attorney, less than ten percent of his cases actually involved innocent people. Besides the innocent, because they were few and far between, he preferred clients who confessed to what they had done; they were remorseful, they had a conscious, and they had a redeeming quality that Judges, juries, and the public wanted.

Then there were clients who declared their innocence the whole time, even when he found evidence to the contrary. Those were the ones he had problems with. If they couldn't admit what they did and their reasons, he had little desire to help them. Those were usually the cases that he tried to get the prosecution to make a deal with. He never wanted to go to trial, go into battle, for a heartless killer.

The McCullough case was one of those. Dwight McCullough, known to everyone as D.W., was one of the highest profile cases he ever had. McCullough was a prominent figure in the community being the tycoon of a film company based solely out of New York and not LA. He started off as doing independent films and made a break in the major motion picture business with back-to-back summer blockbuster hits a few years ago. He had the money to buy and own the dream team of attorneys to represent him if he wished.

Three months ago, McCullough's wife and brother-in-law had gone missing. After a week of searching for the two missing persons, they were found washed up on Staten Island wrapped in trash bags with two gunshot wounds in their heads. It was overkill and it was personal.

No other suspects were even looked at because the police zeroed in on McCullough. The tycoon had stopped talking to the police once they took him into custody and he had gotten him for his lawyer.

Bobby, at the time, didn't understand why the man wanted him when he could have hired anyone, even an entire law firm, to represent him. All McCullough told him was that he wanted the best and the best was him.

What had made him dislike the man and made him not want to take the case was the fact that during the entire investigation, and even now, McCullough was more concerned about his business than what the deaths had done to the families. Bobby had gone to McCullough and was going to deny him his services, but then he received a payment. It was a check for $250,000 up front, and he hadn't even agreed to represent the man at that time.

A few days ago he was given another check for $125,000. On the first day of testimony, he would receive another for $125,000. The first quarter of a million was his, it was his pay. The second quarter of a million was for the investigation and trial fee.

A half a million dollar client. It was every defense attorney's wet dream to get a deal like that.

He had never been one to think about the money, and he had taken on a number of cases pro bono, but he admitted that the money was why he took it. He had to make a living and there was a lot he could get accomplished with a quarter of a million pay day. He had been able to finally afford some things that his own medical coverage and VA benefits didn't cover, like health care for Atticus. That dog was expensive as hell to take care of.

At the moment, his professional life was doing very, very well. He couldn't see an end in sight. Bobby did his last sit-up, stopping at a hundred fifty, and said, "All right, help me down."

Logan helped him into a standing position and asked, "Ready to go or do you want to go for a swim?"

Bobby wiped his face again with the towel before shaking his head. "I'm ready to go. Today wore me out."

"I'll call John," Logan told him. "I'm sure he's ready to get home by now. What park did he say he was going to?"

"Uh…the one, um…four blocks down."

"Hey, John. Yeah, we're done here…Okay, see you in a few." Once the call was done, Logan told him, "You know, even though you're a lawyer, you are the most moral and ethical one I know. I hope you leave McCoy weeping in defeat after you get done with him."

Bobby smiled proudly for a moment before he told Logan, "I'll do my best."

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

Taking the ball from Atticus's mouth, he threw it across the room, toward the wall. He heard it hit off the wall as Atticus chased after it. He was sprawled out on the floor in-between the couch and entertainment center. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken and he was dressed in a pair of black athletic pants and his New York Yankees t-shirt. Leaning back onto his forearms, he listened as the ESPN commentators got into a heated discussion over tomorrow night's baseball game.

Atticus dropped the ball in his lap and then proceeded to pounce on him; he caught the dog by his front legs but he fell backwards, bringing Atticus with him. Rolling to his side, he pushed the dog away while laughing. It didn't stop Atticus from happily running back to him for a fight. Anticipating his dog's playful attack, he managed to tackle him to the floor before letting him up. The wrestling match lasted up until the doorbell chimed. His dinner was there.

He found the ball and tapped it on the floor, getting Atticus's attention. "Ready…set, go," he said as he threw the ball, sending it flying through the house.

Atticus bolted in chase.

Bobby grabbed the couch and pulled himself up. He quickly went over to the door. The first thing he noticed when he opened it was that the delivery man didn't greet him like usual. And, the man smelled different. He'd been smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana. He could also smell the food he'd ordered. "You're not Adrian."

"Adrian?"

Bobby held the door against his body and foot, ready to take action if need be. "Yeah, he usually does the deliveries in this neighborhood."

"Oh. I was called in on my night off…I usually don't work this shift. He probably called in sick."

For some reason that didn't sit right with him, but he wasn't going to argue the fact. Bobby had already counted off the right amount, plus tip, and had it waiting on the table by the door. He reached over and grabbed it, holding it out to the guy as he told him, "Just put the food on the table, right inside the door." He heard the man do just that as Atticus rubbed up beside him and dropped the ball.

The man took the money from his hand and then said, "Have a good night."

"Yeah, you too," he said as he waited until he heard the man step away before closing the door and relocking it. He didn't know why he was curious of the guy, but he had been. Adrian had delivered to him from Luca's for five years. He practically knew the guy's entire life story by now, and he always worked Monday nights.

Shaking it off, he went into the kitchen and prepared Atticus dinner for him so he wouldn't try and bother him while he was eating his. Once done, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and then took it and his food as he made his way out into the hall, down the stairs, and into the study.

He had a lot to get done before he went to pre-trial next week for the McCullough case, and then the week after that was when the trial started. His opening statement hadn't been worked out yet and he was still working out the fine points of the defense. Everything had to be planned out.

That was where Denise usually did most of the work he paid her for. She transferred so many documents into braille, as well as making tapes for him to listen to that described the crime scene photos in so much detail that he could picture it in his mind's eyes. She was amazing at helping him with his case preparation.

Before she went on maternity leave, she worked overtime to get everything done for him. That was why he was able to read over the prosecution's case right then at his desk. Why he was able to put in a tape and headphones and listen to every detail of the crime scene. He would determine how the prosecution's case was going to get played and then he would come up with the best defensive plays to counter-act theirs.

It was like a game, and it was all in the strategy and the presentation of evidence. It had to be perfect and there had to be no stones unturned.

That was where Logan came in. Mike was investigating all aspects of the crime for him, even looking into the backgrounds of the deceased, Tonya McCullough and her brother Edward Atwood. He never wanted to get blindsided in the courtroom. It didn't only look bad on him as a defense attorney, but it also looked bad to the jury.

At some point Atticus had come into the room and laid down in the doggy bed that was in the corner without him noticing. It had probably been when he had his earphones in. He was so engrossed in his work that he lost track of time and it wasn't until his clock announced that it was one in the morning that he decided it was time to go to bed. Half his food was gone, having forgotten about the rest of it as he focused solely on working, and his beer was warm.

"I think it's time for bed, Atticus; what'd you think? Ready to go to bed?"

The dog let out a bark before running out of the room and then into the bedroom. Bobby heard the bedsprings creak as Atticus jumped on it as he left the study for the upstairs kitchen. He threw away the beer but put the food in the refrigerator before following Atticus to bed.

Over an hour later the prospect of getting any sleep was fading as he rolled again in the bed. Groaning, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Atticus must have realized his discomfort and frustration because he came up the bed and flopped down against his chest. Laughing a little, he wrapped his arm around the dog and started petting his chest. Doing that always seemed to comfort him and ease his frustration. Breathing out deeply, he felt his body relax as he started to finally drift into a light sleep.

Feeling Atticus move stirred him awake. Without opening his eyes, he felt the dog move to the end of the bed. Not giving it any thought, he settled back down into the pillow when he heard it. There was a faint sound off in the distance. It was a sound that didn't come from outside, but inside.

Bobby's eyes jerked open as he sat up in bed, listening harder. Before he could call the dog back, Atticus jumped and was running down the hall barking. Pulling open the drawer to his nightstand, he took out his gun and magazine then inserted the 15 round magazine into the Beretta he moved slowly to the door.

At hearing the barking suddenly cut off, Bobby froze as gunshots shattered the calm, quiet night. Instinctively he grabbed the door and shut it just as bullets shattered through the wood and impacted the bed and wall.

The barking started again deep in the house as he stayed up against the wall as the bullets kept coming. Once he counted fifteen rounds fired, the shooting stopped but the doorknob was turned. Whoever was trying to kill him was now trying to get into the bedroom. Taking a breath, he grabbed the handle and swung the door open as he barged right into the person in his house. They both went tumbling to the floor, but he was on top of the man. He smelt that same smell as earlier; it was smoke. The intruder was the delivery man.

Bringing his left hand around, he shoved the gun into the man's chest. "Don't move."

He heard movement right before he felt something metal impact the left side of his face. The man had hit him with the gun he still had. He heard barking getting closer as he jammed the gun into the man's body again and fired.

A gasp of air and then a scream of pain filled his head as he was hit again, this time falling off the man and into the wall. He heard the man struggling to get to his feet, trying to get away. Footsteps hurried down his hall as he let the man go. He didn't want to risk hitting his dog, or not hitting the man at all, but he knew he shot him. That the man's blood was on his floor, and sooner-or-later the man was going to be in a hospital with a gunshot wound.

He breathed heavily in the hallway as he listened. It was silent. There was no movement anywhere near him or in the house. Letting out a deep breath, he laid down as he called out, "Atticus?"

Then that was when he heard the whimpering. Getting to his side and pushing himself up to his feet, he slowly moved down the hall along the wall toward the whimpering. His foot hit something solid. Bending down, he felt a body. A human body…

The man hadn't gotten as far as he thought. He was lying in his hallway. Feeling around his neck, he felt for a pulse and didn't find one. Before he had time to panic that he'd killed someone, he heard his dog's cries again. Leaving the dead man, he continued down the hall. "Atticus?"

A soft yelp made him stop his movements and turn back toward the dead man. Atticus must have been next to him. He dropped to his knees and reached out until he felt fur. His dog was on his stomach and whimpering at him. He grabbed Atticus and pulled him onto his lap. Running his hands over his body, he stilled as he felt something wet and sticky right before he felt the bullet hole.

"Oh…shit," he breathed out a he pulled his shirt off. He wrapped it around the wound and pressed down on it as he lifted his dog up. He carried him into the bedroom where he found his cell phone on the nightstand next to his alarm clock.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm trying to write but life and work is getting in the way. Updates will be slow in coming, but I'm doing my best. Thanks for the reviews and support!

Also, despite what we learned about John Eames in 'The Last Street in Manhattan', I started writing this story before that episode aired. Therefore, I'm having John living in Queens, not Manhattan, and I'm also sticking with the actor I had in mind for playing Alex's dad, and that actor is John Mahoney. I just like him better in my mind as John Eames.

Okay, enjoy!

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

The frenzy around his house was becoming too much. Police officers were coming in and out along with CSU and their equipment. Detective Barak was talking on her cell phone in the kitchen as Detective Eames was sitting across from him in his recliner. He rubbed at his throbbing head as he listened to the scene unfold before him. He had killed the man who was trying to kill him. It had been self-defense. Logically he knew he had nothing to worry about, that he had done the right thing in the eyes of the law, but he still couldn't help but feel that this was going to change everything. He had killed a man tonight.

Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily as the pain that throbbed in his head and soul also radiated into his neck and back. He was hurting both mentally and physically. Someone had hired someone to kill him. Hopefully the dead man was in the system and they could get something off the gun. He needed to know who was putting a contract out on his life.

There was a commotion coming from the front. Opening his eyes, Bobby stilled as he heard John's voice arguing with the officer's posted at his door. "Hey! Let him in."

A few moments later, he heard John say, "Hey, Alex, I figured you'll be the one out here."

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Eames asked in surprise.

"Bobby called me," John simply told her before saying him, "He's fine, Bobby. There was no internal damage. You'll be able to pick him up tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest."

Bobby breathed out and nodded. "Thanks, John."

"Your dog?" Eames asked in confirmation.

Bobby looked toward her voice as he said, "He got shot, trying to protect me."

"Brave dog."

He heard her genuine gratitude and he couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, he is," he said as he suddenly felt a hand against his head. He jerked away out of reflex.

"How's your head?" John asked. "I think it might need stitches."

"The EMT's already looked at it," he said as he pushed John's hand away. "No stitches."

The adrenaline in him was still racing through his body, burning his blood, and he was starting to feel anxious. His hands were constantly moving as he rubbed his neck, adjusted his dark sunglasses, and then wrung his fingers together.

"Would you like anything?'

Bobby shook his head. He didn't want anything except answers and his dog. Running a hand through his hair, he tried to ease his anxiety when he heard John ask him.

"Are you hurting? I can get your pills for you."

He really should take something for his pain, and maybe it would help to calm him. Nodding he didn't look up as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

"Mr. Goren-" Eames started to say before he cut her off.

"It's just Goren, or Bobby, Robert if you want…and we're out of court so please don't call me Counselor," he told Eames as he rubbed at his jaw, easing the tension. "I don't care for the prefix."

There was a slight hesitation in her voice before she said, "Robert, you told the officer that you didn't know who would want you dead; how about anyone who you think could gain from something happening to you."

"That qualifies under who would want me dead, and like I said, I don't know. Other than the police department and the entire DA's office, everyone else seems to like me, even my clients."

"And he's making with the jokes. That's a good sign."

Bobby couldn't help the grin on his face as he heard Logan's voice. "Mike," he reached out to shake his friend's hand when it was pushed aside and arms where wrapped around him in a hug. He tensed but accepted the show of affection for a brief moment before Logan let go.

"I'm glad you're not dead. I was freaking out the entire drive over," Logan told him before addressing one of the detectives, "Detective."

"Logan," Eames greeted back.

"I got your pills," John said as he took his hand and dropped the pills into his palm. He heard the glass being put on the coffee table in front of him.

"Thanks, John." After taking the pills, he told John, "You don't have to stick around. You need your sleep."

"So do you, and I'm not leaving without you."

That took him by surprise; tilting his head toward him, he asked, "What'd you mean "not without me"? I'm fine."

"You're not staying here. Your place is a crime scene until it's released, and even then your bed and door has bullet holes in them. And you're not going to a hotel either. So, unless Mike wants to have you as a house guest, you're staying with me."

"We're like brothers and everything, Bobby, but I'm not sharing my bed with you," Logan piped up from beside him on the couch. "Besides, John drives you so it makes more sense to stay with him."

"Don't I get a say in this?" he asked.

"No," John strictly told him, "because if it was left up to you, you'll stay right here."

Bobby smiled and shook his head. "Detective Eames," he said, "you're his daughter, talk some sense into him."

"I can't; he already made up his mind. Plus, his house has a guest room that's on the bottom floor, along with a security system. You'll be fine there."

"See, it's settled," John said as he finally moved away from him.

Bobby thought about it for a moment as he heard someone else come into the room; and from her perfume, he would guess that it was Barek. It would be best for him to stay with John for now. It wasn't just because the man was a very good friend as well as his driver, but because Alex was his daughter. Maybe he would get to spend more time with her if he stayed with her father until he could return to his own home.

"So far," Barak told him, "There's no hit on the DNA, but the gun was an immediate match to the type of gun used in the shooting a few blocks over. Ballistics decided to compare shell casing, and they are also a match. Your shooter is the same guy that killed two people earlier tonight."

"How much earlier?"

"I'd say about nine hours."

Bobby thought about that for a long moment before saying, "So…this isn't about a guy being hired to kill me, but of a guy who was on a shooting spree? How were the two shooting victims shot? Was it the same MO?"

"We aren't sure yet."

"Well you need to make sure before you make that assumption, don't you think?"

The tension in the room amplified as he heard Barek's strict tone say, "Excuse me?"

Bobby suddenly realized how that came out and sat back on the couch as he told her, "Look, all I'm saying is that if someone rolled up on them and capped them while they were hanging out on the stoop, that's completely different then someone coming up in here and emptying his clip trying to kill me."

"Speaking of emptying clips," Eames suddenly spoke up, trying to ease the tension between him and Barek. "He emptied his before you got off a single round."

Bobby continued to work his jaw and twist his hands as he told her, "I counted fifteen shots fired, then waited. He tried to come into my bedroom, so I got the jump on him and took him to the floor. I told him not to move and he proceeded to hit me in the head with the gun."

"Why'd you shoot him after you had him down?"

Taking a breath, and rubbing at his head, he said, "I still felt that my life was in danger. I didn't know if he reloaded. I didn't know if he had another weapon, a knife maybe, and I couldn't see where his fists were coming from. My intent was to disable him, not to kill him."

"Even after he put fifteen bullets through your door?" Barek asked.

Turning his head toward her, he gave a curt nod.

"Do you always keep a gun on you?"

Bobby finally turned away from Barak as he told Eames, "I keep it in my bedroom, in the nightstand." He took a drink from the glass of water that was still in his hand. "And, yes, I have a license to own and carry a gun."

"Have you had any reason to get a gun? Threats of any kind?"

"The last threat I had on my life was six years ago, and that's been settled. The man who threatened me got executed nine days after he told me he wanted me dead."

"So why get a gun?" Barak asked.

Bobby sighed in irritation as he answered, "I didn't just suddenly get a gun. I've been carrying a weapon since I was nineteen years old."

That caught her off-guard. He liked doing that to Barak since she seemed to hate him solely on principle as well as judging him before knowing him.

"And what reason would a nineteen year old need to carry a weapon?" she asked.

"Its kind-of required when you're an MP in the United States Army." At hearing her soft gasp in surprise, he barely restrained his smirk. "I wasn't born blind, Detective."

Barek had no comeback for that.

"Bobby," Logan said as a warning to him but he was too wound up to back off now.

He knew he was being condescending and pissing the detective off but Barek was being a bitch and his pain meds hadn't kicked in yet. "Listen, this guy, I-I have no idea who he is. The first time I became aware of him was around eight o'clock. I ordered dinner from Luca's on 12th street; I get dinner from there every Monday. For years a guy named Adrian Morris has been delivering to me, every night except for tonight. I asked the man about Adrian and he didn't know who I was talking about, saying that he, uh, he was called in on his night off and that Adrian was probably out sick. It didn't feel right to me but what was I to do? I paid the guy and that was that. Then I spent the next four to five hours working on my case. Around one I went to bed but I couldn't sleep. Sometime after that, maybe an hour or two, the man broke into my house. The guy, he, uh, he sort of knew what he was doing but didn't. He was careless. He wasn't methodical or else he wouldn't have fired all the rounds into the door or he would've waited until he had me cornered to try and off me. And he wouldn't have gotten high before doing the hit."

"How'd you know he was high?" Eames asked him, with a much more gentle tone than Barek would have.

"How'd you think? I could smell it on him; that's why I know it was the delivery guy…it was the same smell. This guy, I'm telling you, I, uh, I th-think he's a-a, um, a semi-professional hit-man," Bobby told them. He was now certain of the profile he had worked out in his throbbing head. "He was hired by someone, but I don't know who. Not a pro, or anyone with a lot of money, or else they would've gotten someone better and more experienced."

"Learn all that from defending these criminals?" asked Barek in a sharp, accusing tone.

Barek had to take one last jab at him. Bobby gritted his teeth as he defensively told her, "No, Detective, I learned that when I worked for CID."

"Barek," Eames said to her partner. "I think we got everything for now. Robert, I apologize-"

"It's okay," he told her. "I know I'm not well liked around the department."

"It's not just that, we worked hard on the Tagman case, and you destroyed it. Barek still hates you for it."

"I understand. There aren't too many people who think the way I do. If I think of anything, Detective Eames, I'll call."

"Okay. You're free to go for now. And I'll probably see you before you have to call. Dad," she said before leaving.

He listened as John Eames left the room, before addressing Logan. "I think I lost my temper."

"Ya think? How's the pain?"

"I still hurt, and I'm exhausted."

"C'mon," Logan said as he put his walking cane-the stick, as he called it-in his hand since he didn't have Atticus, "we'll pack you a bag and get the hell out of here."

They were joined by John and together the three of them got him a small suitcase ready along with his briefcase. Before leaving the house, he went into the kitchen and gathered some of Atticus's stuff into a bag. The last thing he got was the harness; taking it from its spot by the backdoor, he ran his hands through it before putting it into the bag.

* * *

_En-route to One Police Plaza_

Alex snapped her cell phone shut as they slowed to a stop at a red light. She'd just got off the phone with Captain Deakins, informing him of the progress in the shooting. He agreed that it was all in self-defense and in the morning they would present it to the ADA as such. She was certain that nothing would come of the shooting, that Robert Goren would be cleared in any wrong doing. So far, it was cut and dry. The only thing now was to find out who hired the hit.

"Why do you defend him so much?"

She looked away from her phone and stared at her partner. "I don't, but with this I think he doesn't deserve the hostility but our support. It was self-defense and you know it."

Carolyn glanced over at her before rolling her eyes. "I know that, but I'm not talking about just tonight, but all the other times."

She knew that no matter her reasons, or what she said, Barek wouldn't get it. Carolyn had known for a while now that she held a soft spot for the defense attorney, and it wasn't entirely because she thought the man was gorgeous a hell. She honestly respected him. Of all the lawyers she'd met in her lifetime, Robert Goren was the absolute best and the most honest. And his heart was always entirely in the right place with every defendant.

Yes, he got John Tagman to confess, but it wasn't from so self-righteous need to boost his own ego or because he didn't think he could win his case in court. And it definitely wasn't for a pay day. It was because he felt it was the right thing to do for Tagman. It still infuriated her that Goren had seemed at the time to not care about the victims in the case or their families; however, after it was all said and done, and she was able to look back on it with a clearer head, she had understood his reasons.

She thought Barek would also understand. The woman had worked for the FBI, she had once been a profiler for them, but she never once sympathized with the criminals. That was one thing Barek and Goren didn't have in common. Where Goren could sympathize, even empathized with the criminals he defended, Barek couldn't. Alex felt that she couldn't either. Not in the way Goren could. To her, a criminal was a criminal; she didn't care about the why. She didn't care about the reasons, and she didn't care about what their intent was other than their intent to kill. The age old "not meaning to do it" wasn't a good enough excuse.

Yet, whenever she sat in a courtroom along with Robert Goren, and watched as he got to the heart of the case, which usually was the intent, she found herself coming around to his side of things. She found herself understanding what he was trying to get through to the jury. That the intent did matter. It wasn't all about the facts of the case, or the evidence, but the understanding of why.

She had to admit that it was critical. It was why after a murder happened, everyone asked themselves 'why', or 'how could this have happened'. They wanted the reasons. They wanted to understand. Robert Goren understood that better than most, and he gave the public the 'why'. He gave them that understanding, and because of it, he never lost a single trial.

However, usually, the ones that got off as it were, who he went to trial for and got the ultimate not guilty verdict for, weren't cold-blooded killers. They weren't habitual criminals or the scum of the earth. They were mostly good people who made a bad mistake. Good people who could be redeemed, who could be forgiven, and who had taken responsibility by agreeing to therapy or who went on to civil court and paid their dues.

All that had ended when Goren agreed to defend Dwight "D.W." McCullough. That man was guilty as sin and cold-blooded as they came. So, now, she wasn't sure how she felt about Goren because she knew that the only reason he took it was for the pay day. From her standpoint, Robert Goren had sold his soul.

And that was something she couldn't defend.

Barek parked the department issue SUV in the garage and took out the keys before turning to her. "This isn't going to be a problem is it?"

Alex turned to her with a look of disbelief. She couldn't believe she asked her that. "No, it isn't. He's not a conflict of interest, Barek. He's not even a friend."

"But you have feelings-"

"So, do you. And my feelings aren't that strong. Yes, I like the guy, but you hate his guts and that could be seen and/or used as a conflict of interest just as much as mine."

Barek took that in for a moment and she saw the moment clarity hit. She relaxed in the seat and let out a deep sigh. "You're right, Alex. I'm sorry I even brought it up."

"It's okay. I know why you did. It seems that both of us have our own feelings on the case, and the man involved, but we can't let those feelings cloud our judgment. Let's just find who hired the hit and get this over with," she told her partner as she opened the door and climbed out of the SUV.

* * *

_The next day_

_Home of John Eames_

_Forest Hills, Queens_

Everyone knew the Fifth Amendment which protected the accused from self-incrimination. However, not everyone knew about the Geneva Convention and what Article 17 and 13 stated. Article 17 said that punishment of a prisoner for refusing to answer questions other than their name, rank, date of birth, and social security number was prohibited. Article 13 stated that prisoners of war were to be treated humanely and protected against insults and public curiosity. According to the New York press, it seemed that prisoners of war had more laws protecting them against public scrutiny and criticism than he did for not answering their questions and for protecting himself by pleading the fifth.

On every news channel that he listened to, it made him want to have the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution revamped. Freedom of the press should be restricted to the truth and nothing but the truth.

The way the news reporters presented him to the world with his past cases and dealings as a defense attorney, it sounded like the shooter shouldn't have missed him fifteen times. Turning the TV off, he tossed the remote onto the table as he leaned back and let out a deep sigh. He heard more than he felt a ceiling fan spinning around above him, circulating the warm air throughout the kitchen. He was too hot in the house but he knew that John was probably very comfortable with the warmer temperature.

He was going to have to make a call to the news station and have a talk with Rich Upton, their lead investigative reporter. It wasn't going to be a talk about him getting pissed at the press, even though he was, but to try and find out who his source was, where the information had come from. There was information he heard on the news that wasn't public knowledge and that deeply worried him. Trying to get the reporter to give up his source was going to be near to impossible, but he had to try.

Straightening in the chair, he took a drink of his coffee as he picked the remote up again and flipped the TV back on. So far, that was the only other button, besides the channel numbers, that he figured out. The remote John had was different from his and he wasn't about to fuck up his cable box because he didn't know what button did what.

"Those reporters don't know what they're talking about," John said as he pushed open the kitchen door and walked in.

Bobby turned his head toward the noise as he asked, "You heard?"

"No, I grabbed the paper off the stoop and took a look at the front page. That was all I needed to see to know that they're all a bunch of assholes."

"Oh, yeah? What'd they write about me?" he asked as he took a sip of the coffee.

"Just that there should have been a massacre at your house last night, with you being the one riddled with bullets. But, what'd you expect, huh? You're a lawyer, people are supposed to hate you."

"They only hate me until they need me, and then I'm their best friend," he told John as he handed the remote to his right side, knowing that John was right there at the counter.

John took the remote from him and changed the TV channel for him to the sports station. "Enough of those idiots, I want to know what's going on with the games."

Bobby smiled a little as he heard the commenters voices talking about tonight's baseball game instead of hearing about the shooting. It was done, over with, and he was looking forward to putting it behind him. It was a futile thought, but it was worth a shot. He had almost tricked himself that it would be the last time he would hear about it until his cell phone went off in his pocket.

Groaning, and hoping it wasn't another reporter, he pulled it out and answered, "No comment."

"Thank goodness you're okay," Denise said right back in relief. "How're you? How's Atticus? What-"

"Slow down, Denise, all right? I'm fine, Atticus is fine," he told her. Bobby wasn't going to tell her yet about him being shot; she had enough to worry about. "As for what happened, a guy broke in and-"

"And tried to kill you!" she exclaimed. "Do the police know anything yet?"

"I don't know, I don't think so." He was quiet a moment, wondering if he should tell her that he thought it was a hit gone bad.

Before he could tell her, she said, "Tell me honestly Bobby, was this a hit or was he just trying to rob the place?"

He should have known she would wonder about that herself. Sighing, he answered, "I think it was a hit, yeah."

"Oh, lord. Where are you now?"

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"This phone isn't bugged!"

He wanted to laugh at that but all he could manage was a grunt and smile. "I know, but still, it's best if you don't know."

It wasn't like he was in protective custody; if anyone wanted to find him, all they had to do was follow John's car. That thought twisted his stomach as he realized that he'd put his friend in danger. Maybe he should have a talk with Detective Eames about that.

Denise didn't sound too happy about it, but she agreed. "Okay, I guess you're right. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he told her and felt a smile on his face. She really was worried about him. "Hey, uh…my brownstone is a crime scene right now, so, uh…so I'm not going to call your brother yet. I'm going to give it 'til the end of this week and we can start transferring stuff to your place over the weekend, okay? Don't worry about it or work, just take care of your son and let me handle this."

She was quiet for a moment before telling him, "Okay. You know I love you right?"

He smiled a little more as he said, "Yeah, I know. Get some rest. If anything comes up that's work related, and that I absolutely need your help with, I'll call."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he told her before saying his good-bye. Once he hung up, he put the cell back into his pocket. "So," he said as he heard John preparing breakfast: the clicking of pots and pans on the stove and the ripping open of packages and the sudden frying of bacon and sizzle of eggs. The smell that assaulted his nose made his stomach grumble. "I want to go by the vet's office today and visit Atticus. Even if I can't take him home today, I want him to know I'm still here."

"I was thinking the exact same thing. I think he needs to know you're okay, and that you haven't forgotten about him."

"I could never forget about that dog, John. Hell, he's like family, and he saved my life. That's definitely something that a fucking walking stick couldn't do." As soon as he said that, the door to the kitchen swung open and he heard another voice enter the conversation.

"If I'm going to have to listen to you bitch and moan about that walking stick again, I'll leave."

Smirking slightly, he said, "Good morning, Mike. What're you doing here?"

"John invited me for breakfast," he told him as he patted him on the shoulder as he walked by. "Sleep all right?"

"No."

"Figures," Mike grumbled. "Hey, are we still on for the game tonight?"

Through all the chaos of last night and yesterday, he forgot that they had tickets to game 1 of the ALCS. "Uh, yeah, we're still going."

"Great, but I've got a problem."

"What's that?" he asked as he took a sip of coffee as he waited for Mike to tell him what his problem was.

"Well, my friend backed out so I've got an extra ticket."

Bobby leaned back in the chair and turned his head toward the direction of Mike's voice. "So, invite someone else. Invite John."

"No can do," John said. "Though I would love to do nothing but go to the game and watch as the Sox beat the Yankees, I've got other plans."

Bobby frowned as he said, "Johnny, you're breaking my heart. You can't live in New York and root for Boston."

"Like hell I can't," he shot back. "My body may be in Queens, but my heart belongs to Boston."

"Does Alex feel the same why?"

"I don't know, but she thinks Jeter's cute."

Bobby sighed heavily as he thought that despite the fact if Alex liked Boston or not, he could forgive her for it as long as she had some liking for the Yankees. Even if it was only because she thought Derek Jeter was cute.

"Why don't I invite her?"

He stilled midway bringing the cup back up to his lips. Turning toward Mike, he asked as his voice rose in pitch, "Who her?"

"Alex," Mike said with a teasing tone in his voice.

"Don't you have more than one friend?"

"Don't you?" Mike shot back and waited. When he had no answer to that, he continued, "She could be a friend if you let her be. That was the only reason I got three tickets instead of two, to introduce you to more people. It doesn't hurt to have friends, pal. And other lawyers and criminals don't count."

"Yeah they do. I've got my hooks in some people who I know for a fact that'll have my back if I need them to."

"Even so, you can't invite them over for dinner parties, or to go to a baseball game," Mike told him as he sat down next to him.

Bobby smelt then heard a plate being placed in front of him and didn't know if it was due to John or Mike, so he didn't say anything as he felt for the fork. He found it next to the plate on his right side instead of left. As he put it in his left hand, he shifted in his seat and fingered food on his plate to know what was what and wear before he started to dig in.

After a couple of minutes, he finally said, "If you really want to invite her, I won't stop you. And only if John's okay with it."

No one said anything for a long moment, and then he heard John tell him, or Logan one, "I'm okay with it. Plus, you might need the extra protection."

"She's not going as my bodyguard. That's what Logan's for."

"Gee, thanks, Bobby, I'm glad to know my place. I'm nothing to you but a human shield."

Bobby chuckled as he gave a shrug and said, "You just now figured that out." He felt a fist land on his shoulder, it wasn't soft, but it didn't hurt either. Without even breaking a smile, he gave a mocking, "Ouch," as he picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip.

* * *

_Office of Ronald Carver_

_One Hogan Plaza, Manhattan_

Alex looked at the clock on the wall as she waited for Carver to return. The ADA was called out of his office the moment she arrived by Jack McCoy. Carver told her to wait, that it would only take a minute, and so she was waiting. That had been ten minutes ago.

Barek was back at One Police Plaza, going over the evidence from the shooting last night. They only need one of them here for the meeting so she had volunteered. All it was really was to tell Carver about the shooting, what they had, and that Goren was innocent of wrong doing because it was self-defense, and the gun Goren had used was legal and registered. There should be no charges brought against the defense attorney.

She heard the door close behind her and looked to see Carver, with a very troubled frown on his face, walk around the table and to his desk. He sat in front of her and adjusted his tie and then his glasses, before leaning on his desk and looking straight at her.

"I'm assuming you're here in regards to the shooting last night involving Bobby Goren."

"You assume correctly. An intruder broke in and tried to kill him, there was a fight between the two, Goren was hit in the head and then returned fire. It was in self-defense and we're not looking to press any charges."

"And the gun used?"

She wasn't sure if he was asking about Goren's gun or the intruder, so she answered for both. "Goren's gun was legally bought and registered. The intruder's gun was bought illegally and it was used in a shooting earlier that day, and it's now in evidence."

Carver sat back and took all of that in as he gave a faint nod. He was looking lost in his thoughts for a moment before saying, "This is going to change things."

Alex didn't know what he was referring to, so she asked, "Change things?"

"Yes, detective, it's going to change things for Goren, in regards to how he's going to be viewed and accepted from here on out."

"It should only change things, Mr. Carver, if he murdered a man in cold-blood. He didn't."

"Perception, Detective Eames, goes a long way within these walls," he told her as he looked over at her and explained, "I like Goren. He's a good man. A little unorthodox, but he's highly respected. As any defense attorney who takes on a lot of cases, and all of the cop cases, pro bono. He says he doesn't want a cop's money, but he'll take a criminals'," Carver said with a bitter laugh. "He's a funny guy. If there's one lawyer you want on your side, it's Bobby Goren. He's one hell of a defense attorney, the best I've seen since…" he thought about it and then shook his head as he honestly told her, "I've never seen anyone as good as him."

"And now?"

"And now, he's shot and killed a man. Self-defense or not, he's going to get a lot of press for this, a lot of criminals are going to go to him looking for an attorney who understands better than most what it's like to take a life, and it's also going to affect how the jury sees him." Carver let out a sigh and said, "If this happened to a prosecutor, a servant to the State, then there would be no issue. But for a man defending criminals, a killer, this is going to change everything. The twelve members on that jury might not see it as a simple case of self-defense, especially with the way the press is going after him."

Alex sat for a moment, thinking about it, before she said, "You're thinking he could lose his practice over this?"

"Not right at first, no, but maybe in the long run if he can no longer connect with the jury. He'll have to plead out every case if he knows he can't win in the court room. Then eventually, no one will go to him. Especially no one like D.W. McCullough. This could be his last big case; that is if it continues to be his case. McCullough might just pull out and ask the Judge for a new attorney if he doesn't think Bobby can now win it with his name being smeared all over the press." He thought some more on it before saying, "This trial is going to be big. If Bobby can prove that he can win it, despite all this going on, then he might just be okay. If not…" he left the rest unsaid, she got the picture.

If Goren lost McCullough as a client or if he lost the trial because the jury no longer trusted him not only as an attorney but as a man, then he could very easily kiss his career good-bye.

Alex was leaving the office when she received a phone call from Mike Logan. "What's up, Logan?"

"Not much, just hanging with your pops and Goren, and wondering if you've got plans for this evening."

Alex hit the button to the elevator as she frowned in confusion. "No I don't, why?"

"Well, see, the thing is, I've got an extra ticket to the baseball game tonight, and we were just wondering if you wanted to go…with us."

She stared at the elevator doors until they opened and even then she almost forgot to get on. Reaching out to keep the doors from sliding close, she stepped in as she answered, "Why me?"

Mike was quiet for a moment and she figured he didn't either know the answer or he was uncertain in telling her. "Why not you? We don't know too many people."

Mike said "we" but she knew he really wanted to say "Bobby". She knew that the once Homicide detective had plenty of friends. She also knew that the unorthodox defense attorney who Mike called his best friend didn't. As she waited for the elevator to descend to the lobby, she took the time to think about it. There wasn't much to think about really. She liked baseball, she liked Mike Logan and could easily see becoming the man's friend, and she also liked Goren. Whether or not they could be friends was yet to be seen, and she admitted that she never tried to be.

Letting out a breath, she said into the phone, "Okay. I'll go."

"Great. Be at your dad's by five. We can have dinner here and then head out to the Bronx."

"Sounds great. I'll see you then."

Once they hung up, she pocketed the phone and left the building as she wondered how this evening would go. It would be the first time she spent any time outside of work with both Logan and Goren. Oh well, either way she was going to have a fun watching the game. And if her father could put up with the two men, then she knew for a fact that she could as well.

* * *

_Cobble Hill Veterinary Clinic_

_Cobble Hill, Brooklyn_

The moment he pushed his way into the room he heard a soft yelp and broke out into a wide smile as he headed toward the yelp. He swung his cane back and forth, hitting a few things like table legs and chairs, as he worked his way around the room to the spot where Atticus was being held and taken care of. When his stick hit the side of a cage, his smile dropped.

He knelt down as he spoke softly, "Atticus?" When he received a familiar bark, he asked more loudly, "Why's he in a cage?"

"For his own safety," Dr. Nolan told him. "He's also wearing a cone and being given medication."

Bobby stood and turned toward the vet as he asked, "Can you let him out?"

"Certainly," Dr. Nolan told him as he heard keys jiggling and then felt a presence beside him. "But he might not be able to walk. One of his medications is a sedative."

The door to the cage opened and he knelt down again as he reached into the cage. He felt fur and then a bandage before a tongue licked over his hand and fingers. He couldn't stop from smiling if he tried. He petted over his dog's ears and head, and cursing the cone for getting in his way, and rubbed at all the spots he knew pleased Atticus the most. Without realizing it until he felt the trickle down his cheek, he reached up and wiped the tears away; and very thankful that he told John to stay outside in the waiting area for now.

"…with the surgery," Dr. Nolan was telling him, "and the medication, the cost-"

"I don't care about the cost," Bobby told the doctor as he continued to pet his dog. "When can I take him home?"

"Tomorrow. I want to keep an eye on him for and to make certain that there are no complications."

"Okay," he said only to let the doctor know that he heard him. His full attention was being focused on his dog. It was hard to stop petting him, hard to finally step back as he heard a soft whimper. "I'll be back, buddy. Then I'll take you home. Be a good boy."

Leaving that room where his dog laid injured and needing him nearly broke his heart. John steered him away, leading him out of the building and to the awaiting car.

* * *

_Yankee Stadium_

_South Bronx_

"Who're the starting pitchers?" Mike asked as they made their way to their seats.

Mike had gotten the tickets from a friend of a friend, whatever that meant, and the seats were along the right foul line, behind the dugout.

Bobby kept a hold of Mike's shoulder as he lead the way through the crowd of people coming and going. "Schilling and Mussina."

"Figured the Sox would start Schilling, he's coming off a 6-1 postseason."

"Yeah, but Mussina's on fire right now. I'm expecting him to have a great game. He might just ice the Sox lineup." He turned his head sideways, asking, "You still behind me, Alex?"

"I'm here, and I think you're right. Mussina's the better pitcher."

Bobby smiled as he teased her, saying, "Your dad would have a heart attack to hear you talk such filth."

"He's been in denial that I'm a Yankee fan since I was eight. He'll get over it, eventually. This is us? Great seats, Mike!"

"Told ya!" Mike called back.

Bobby couldn't tell and didn't care. He was there and he was going to have a great time regardless. Mike sat to his right while Alex was to his left, putting him right in the middle of the both of them. Upon arrival at her father's house, and after calling her 'Detective', and 'Eames', Alex told him to call her Alex outside of the courtroom. In conceding to that, he told her to call him Bobby.

After taking his seat, he turned on the radio he had in his hand and put an earphone into his right ear. He listened to the voices of Jon Miller and Joe Morgan, the radio announcers for the game, as he leaned back in the seat.

"How're Jon and Joe sounding tonight?" Mike asked him right before he called out for three beers.

"Excited," he told him as he accepted the offered cup of beer that Mike shoved into his hand. He loved listening to the two men call the play-by-play, especially Jon Miller. The way that man described the game, it was almost like he could see again.

"May I ask you something, Bobby?" Alex suddenly said as they took their seats after the singing of the National Anthem.

"You can ask me anything," he said with a cheeky smile as he turned his head toward her.

Alex chuckled before asking, "Why the sunglasses?"

Bobby reached up and adjusted them as he thought about how to answer that. Then, he finally settled on telling her his reasons for why he did it in a courtroom. "I don't like for the jurors to be uncomfortable. I know well enough that most people…when they notice a, uh…a difference in somebody else, they tend to focus on the difference. Think about it. When you see someone in a wheelchair…you keep looking at the chair, right? You keep thinking about it, thinking about what it must be like or…or you feel sympathy. Not a lot of people see the person in the chair. Some do…some don't," he said as his voice betrayed him as he let some of his bitterness out. He didn't mean too, but he was bitter. "The same with my eyes. Without the sunglasses on, people will be more inclined to focus on my eyes, and they'll be put off, you know, and not comfortable, and they wouldn't be able to listen. They wouldn't hear my words, or the impact of what I have to say, not really, anyway. So, that's why."

Alex was quiet a moment before asking, "And what about outside of the courtroom?"

Bobby smiled slightly. She didn't understand, and even though he wished she did, he also knew deep down she wouldn't. No one did, not unless they were blind like him. "I guess it's for the same reason. I remember before, when I was younger, and when I could see, uh…I was in line at a coffee shop, and the man in front of me was blind, but he didn't wear anything to cover up his eyes, you know. He didn't care, I guess. Anyway, I didn't care either, but I kept noticing how other people looked at him, especially the girl getting his coffee. She kept staring, kept looking at him. Even though it wasn't me, I felt angry at her for it. I felt uh…embarrassed for the man. He didn't even know because he couldn't see her, but I had a feeling that he could feel it…the stares. I guess, with wearing the glass, that maybe I can fool myself into thinking that I'm not getting those same looks."

"Sorry," Alex softly told him.

He turned his head toward her, almost like he could look right into her eyes, as he said, "There's nothing for you to be sorry about."

Alex didn't say anything else about it the rest of the evening, and he was thankful for that. Maybe, just maybe, that would be the last time they ever talk about it.

After that, he wasn't sure what to talk to Alex about. It wasn't awkward, but he felt that he had to say something to make her know that he wasn't sore about her asking him about wearing the sunglasses all the time. Leaning sideways a little, getting a little closer to her, he said, "You know that the Yankees were uh, that they started off in Baltimore?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, uh…they were the-the, uh…the Baltimore Orioles from um, from 1901 to 1902 until they were moved to New York and uh, they became the New York Highlanders after uh, after the British military unit The Gordon Highlanders, which coincided with the, uh, the team's president at the time, Joseph Gordon. It wasn't until 1904 that they became known as the Yankees thanks to the _New York Press_ Sports Editor Jim Price who started calling them that nickname because it was easier to fit in headlines."

Alex was silent for a long moment and he wondered if he had said entirely way too much about the history of the Yankees until she said, "I didn't know that. I did know that they played in northern Manhattan at Hilltop Park between 165th and 168th street before being moved first to Polo Grounds before they finally settled in the Bronx. My dad's a fan of the history of both the Red Sox and the Yankees, plus I grew up in Inwood," she said in way of explanation on why she knew that.

Bobby was momentary stunned until he smiled a little wider. "Inwood, I never would've guessed. I figured since John lived in Queens that you grew up there."

"Nope, I'm a Manhattan kid. How about you?"

"Brooklyn…Canarsie. Who's your favorite player?"

"Past or present?" Alex asked, sounding more amused and comfortable.

"Either, both."

"Past, I would have to say Joltin' Joe DiMaggio."

Bobby smiled wider at hearing that.

"Present, Derek Jeter, definitely."

"Alex Eames," he said playfully, "Marry me."

Alex started laughing while she shoved him in the shoulder. "Dream on, counselor."

"Hey, none of that "counselor" crap. It's Bobby, from here on out, I don't want to hear you call me anything else." Then his mind suddenly went into the gutter with that last remark and he had to shake his head at himself. Yeah, dream on, Bobby, he told himself as he took a sip of his beer as the Yankees starting lineup took the field.

Throughout the game, they talked and he found himself enjoying what he learned about the detective. She had some great stories, like selling matchstick outside of the courthouse in the freezing cold snow, to her bartending days which helped to put her through night school. And then her academy days and into working Vice for four years before ending up at Major Case. He found out that she'd been married once, to a narcotics detective, and that Joe had been killed on the job. Through it all, he heard about how resilient she was, how strong, respectable, and funny she was. He loved her snarky sense of humor; her witty comments to Mike had him laughing on more than a few occasions.

Where his sense of humor was mostly dry and dark, hers was sarcastic and no-nonsense. He found himself ignoring Mike for most of the game and it seemed that Mike didn't mind one bit that he kept leaning into Alex and conversing with her more and more about the game or something else entirely.

A while later, after the Yankees scored two runs in the sixth, and he was handed his second beer, he felt Mike elbow him in his arm.

"I bet Mussina's going have a perfect game," Mike exclaimed.

"Don't jinx it," he said as he elbowed him right back, causing Mike to chuckle. "It's only the bottom of the seventh. You can't say shit like "perfect game" until it's over!"

It wasn't long before all prospects of a perfect game came to a crashing halt as Mussina gave up five runs as the Red Sox rallied to make the score 8 to 5, still in favor of the Yankees, but no longer a blowout or a perfect game.

Bobby sighed and shook his head as he turned toward Mike, "You had to say something about a perfect game, didn't you?"

Mike grumbled something he couldn't make out before saying, "They're still gonna win it."

After the Sox scored two more runs in the eighth, closing the gap further, and with two outs and the tying run on third base, the Yankees sent out their closer, Mariano Rivera; it was a call that made everyone in the stadium, including himself, get out of their seats.

Alex was the one who started it, the chant that got the whole section going. "Ri-v-era! Ri-v-era," she yelled out while banging on the back of the seat in front of her.

The next thing he knew, half their row was doing it and it quickly spread all around him as they continued their chant.

Then he heard it, the crack of the bat and the announcer in his ear. "Pop up fly to short! Jeter's under it…He's got it! Third out and we're headed to the bottom of the eighth!"

They all started cheering and the sound was near deafening. Bobby remained standing as he felt Alex and Mike off to his sides standing as well. In fact, he didn't think anyone in the stadium was sitting anymore and they wouldn't for the rest of the game.

"We got the top of the lineup coming up: Jeter, A-Rod, and Sheffield," Mike said next to him. "Think it'll be 11 to 8 after three at bats? I bet the end score will be 15 to 8, what'd you think?"

Bobby thought about it and shook his head, saying, "I'm thinking 11 to 9. Alex?"

"You two bet on the final score?"

Bobby smirked, saying, "Of course. But, not for money, but-"

"For who's buying afterwards," Mike told her, cutting her off. "Whoever gets the closest gets free drinks all night."

Alex didn't say anything for a moment before saying, "Final score 10 to 8. Have any of you been right on the money?"

"I think we both have a few times," Bobby said. "Mike likes go high, though. So I usually go low. You went lower than me."

"Well, I just don't think Rivera's going to give up another run," Alex told him as Jeter stepped up to home plate.

The bottom of the ninth proved him and Alex right so far. Jeter grounded out, Rodriguez and Sheffield both singled and got on base. Then center fielder Bernie Williams got up to bat. And as everyone around him urged Bernie on, he hit a line drive double to left field. Bobby didn't think he had a voice left to yell out as Rodriguez and Sheffield both scored, making the score 10 to 8.

Mike groaned as it went into the ninth without the Yankees scoring another run. Then, Bobby smiled over at Alex as he said, "You just might win the bet. Rivera isn't going to give up a run."

"Then why'd you bet that the Sox were going to get one more?"

He shrugged, saying, "I'm betting on one of them, either Nixon or Varitek, to get a solo homerun."

It didn't take long for Bobby to regret that thought as Nixon popped-out to shortstop. However, Varitek and Cabrera both got on base and bringing the Red Sox third baseman, Mueller, to bat with one out and two on. The noise, by the time Mueller stepped up to home plate, had amplified as everyone in the stadium were either cheering, yelling, or chanting. It was hard to hear what was going happening as the noise of the cheering started to drown out the voice of Jon Miller in his head. All he knew was that Rivera was giving him a panic attack as he threw two balls, then two strikes. It was coming down to the wire when he threw his fifth pitch.

Bobby heard the crack of the bat and held his breath.

"Ground ball back to the pitcher. Rivera's on it, tosses it to Jeter who's covering second. One out and Jeter throws it to first…He's out! Mueller's out at first on a double play!"

Then the fans exploded. The sudden burst of celebration as the Yankees won game one continued to ring in his ears even after they left the stadium. Fans were celebrating all around him, on the sidewalk and in streets, yelling and cheering and honking car horns. Bobby stayed close to Mike but it was Alex who guided him along with her arm in his.

He wasn't about to complain about that.

"Do you want those free drinks tonight, Alex, or some other time?" he asked as he leaned into her, getting close so she could hear him over the cheering.

She pulled him down a little more, and saying right into his ear. "How about some other night?"

Bobby nearly shivered at the feel of her warm breath on his ear. Smiling that he would get another night to spend with her, he quickly agreed.

Mike was a little disappointed that they wouldn't be going out after the game, but he quickly got over it when Alex told him that they would go out this weekend when neither one of them had to go into work the next day.

"You just want more free drinks," Mike said. "A whole crazy and wonderful nights worth."

"You're damn right I do. If you guys are offering to buy, it's not going to end at just two."

Bobby was smiling as they entered the parking garage; he could tell that by the shift in air and the muffled noises from the enclosed space. "Whatever you want, Alex. I'll buy the whole bar out if you want."

"I'm anything but a light-weight, but I don't think I'm an alcoholic, Bobby."

With that, he started laughing as they made their way to Mike's car. The night was coming to an end and he found himself not wanting it to. This was the best night he had in what felt like years. He not only had a great time with his best friend, Mike, but he also got to spend it with Alex, and that made it near close to heaven in his book.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked her once they were on the road with Mike driving and him in the passenger seat.

Alex had insisted on sitting in the back even though he offered her the front. But then she made a joke about his height before getting in the back. "It was better than good, it was wonderful. Thanks again for inviting me."

Bobby couldn't stop smiling the entire drive back to John's house.

TBC…

PS: This story isn't about the police investigation into who hired a hit man to kill Bobby, so if you're expecting to see Alex and Carolyn running around the streets of New York, it's not going to happen. All the updates you will get about the investigation will be through conversations, hints I drop about it, and then the final confrontation, but not from the actual investigation. This is mostly a story about Bobby as a lawyer, his friendships, and his growing relationship with Alex.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is shorter than the others but it mostly takes place inside the courtroom during a trial.

Okay, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Criminal Court Building_

He felt the hand once again on his elbow and he once again yanked it away. Stopping, he turned to John and as politely as he could, said, "John, I appreciate you getting me through security, but you have to stop."

"I'm just helping you out. It was easier before with Atticus, but now-"

"Yes, he helped, but I know how to get around perfectly fine. And, I have this," he said as he raised the walking stick that was in his left hand. "You can go now. I'll call when I get out of court. Hopefully that'll be really soon."

"If you can get the ADA to play 'Let's Make a Deal', you mean," John said before telling him, "The elevator to your left is empty."

Smirking slightly, he said, "Thanks. Now, go." He turned to his left and made it into the elevator before the doors started to close. He ran his fingers over the buttons, feeling the braille numbers, and selected the third floor.

The moment he walked off the elevator he heard a voice off to his right. It was the voice of the ADA presiding over the case he was in court for that day. She must have been on her cell phone because he couldn't hear anyone responding to her questions and comments. Turning toward voice, he started for her. "Novak."

Novak abruptly stopped talking into her cell phone as she told him, "I told you already, Goren, there is no way my office is not going to let me kick the rape charge just because you say so."

Bobby groaned a little as he heard her start to walk away. He followed. "Come on, he's innocent. The only reason-" a door hit him in the chest and he bit out an angry, "Fuck," as he pushed it open and walked into the courtroom. "You did that on purpose."

"Not my fault you can't see a door swinging back," Novak shot back from across the empty courtroom. "You're the one who said that you don't want to be treated differently-"

"Yeah, but intentionally letting the door swing back and hit me-" He heard her soft laughter and he shook his head, "that's just mean."

"Cut the melodrama, Goren. What'd you want?"

"You to say yes to my deal."

"Ha."

He sighed as he walked further into the room; he pushed open the swinging gate with his leg as he made his way to the defense table. "He's innocent," he pleaded again. "If you win this case-"

"What do you mean "if"?"

"What'd you got? You have a sketchy eye witness-"

"Who is the victim," she stressed.

"And a detective who went against procedure by showing her one photograph and encouraged her to make the identification. You're going to lock up an innocent man, orphan his son-"

"Okay," Novak said, cutting him off. She was quiet a moment before saying, "I'll kick the rape if he pleads guilty to the knife. He's got priors, so that'll make it a felony. One to three years. That's my only offer. Court starts in ten; the offer is off the table in nine."

Bobby sighed and shook his head. After giving it some thought, he said, "Okay. I'll talk to my client. Be back in ten."

"I know you're not also deaf. I said court starts in ten."

Bobby smirked a little as he called out, "Hey, bailiff?"

"Yeah, Goren?"

"I need to see my client."

The bailiff, who was a certified Sheriff, led him out of the courtroom and to holding where his client, Trevor Hines, sat waiting for the trial to begin.

Bobby waited until he heard the door close, leaving him and Hines alone. Stepping up to the bars of the cell, he gripped one in his hand as he leaned against it and said, "Trevor."

"Yeah, Bobby. I'm here." The uncertainty and disappointment he heard in Trevor's voice unsettled him.

Bobby knew that this case was unlike all the others. In this case, he knew for a fact that his client was innocent. It broke his heart to have to make a deal, but he was going up against a Judge who he knew for a fact not only hated him, but who also looked upon suspected rapist with an unfair bias. Every rape case that had been presented in Judge Daniel Hawthorne's court had never been won by the defense. It was one of the reasons Casey Novak wanted the Judge.

Letting out a breath, he asked, "Have I ever told you to take a cop-out?"

"No," Trevor answered as he stepped up to the cell bars.

"Well, uh…I was just made an offer. It's a good deal. I think you should take it. The ADA is offering one to three. She'll drop the rape if you cop to the knife."

Trevor was quiet for a long moment. "Isn't that like saying I'm guilty of the rape?"

"Absolutely not. Look, Trevor-"

"I'm not taking the deal. I want my day in court. From day one, you knew I was innocent and you promised me that you would go to battle for me. That's what you said."

Bobby had to admit, the man had him there. He did promise him that he would take this to trial, into battle, because he believed in his innocence. Despite his worries about the Judge, he had to concede to his client. "Are you sure that this is what you really want? Because if I go in there and this continues and you're found guilty, that's twenty to twenty-five. You'll be getting out at retirement age instead of going home in two months with time served. Two months, Trevor, on a knife charge."

He heard the sigh in defeat as he felt a hand over the one he had wrapped around a cell bar. Trevor squeezed his hand before saying, "Yeah, you're right. Two months sounds good. Okay, Bobby, let's take it."

"It'll be all right," he told him before leaving. "And maybe I can ask for time served and get you home to your son before dinner time."

Fifteen minutes later court was called into session. Bobby stood beside Trevor Hines at the defense table as Judge Daniel Hawthorne entered the courtroom.

After they took their seats, he heard Novak address the court. "Your Honor, we have a disposition of this matter."

"Is that correct, Mr. Goren?" Judge Hawthorne asked for his agreement to what Novak had announced.

Standing up, he said, "Yes, Your Honor, that's correct."

"And what is this proposed disposition, Miss Novak?" Hawthorne asked.

"Attempt criminal possession of a weapon in the third degree, which is a Class E Felony, and one to three."

The courtroom was quiet for a moment and Bobby was greatly wondering if maybe the Judge wasn't such a hard-ass as everyone thought.

Then, he heard the Judge say, "So, let me get this straight. You're proposing to drop a rape charge for purposes of disposition?"

"Yes, Your-" Novak answered before she was cut off.

"Is this a joke?"

"No, Judge; this isn't a joke. We-"

"Well it has to be if you honestly think I'm going to allow that in my courtroom. I'm not going to put a dangerous criminal back on the street just to avoid a trial."

"Your Honor," Bobby protested, "This is an agreed upon disposition in which both sides agree that my client-"

"I don't care about what you believe, Mr. Goren," the Judge told him. "I care about what you can prove."

"And I can prove that there are mitigating circumstances-"

"Which you can argue at trial. The disposition is denied. Trial will commence forthwith. Meaning now, Mr. Goren. Take your seat."

Bobby didn't sit right away as he felt his anger start to boil up. He was ready to put up a fight.

"Bobby," he heard Novak whisper to him from across the space that separated their tables. "Don't do this."

After a brief moment, he finally sat back down. This battle was going to be hard to win, but he was now more determined than ever to win it, if only to spite the Judge. The only witnesses the prosecution had were the victim in the case and the detective who made the arrest of his client. First up was Detective Elliot Stabler with the Special Victim's Unit.

Bobby had many meetings with the SVU detective in court. Stabler was one of the better detectives, but he was also the most rash. The man had a temper and during one instance he had inadvertently pushed one of Stabler's buttons and ended up in a heated yelling match with the detective that was cause for the both of them to be held in contempt of court. To say that spending a couple of hours in a holding cell with Elliot Stabler was the worst time in his life was an understatement.

Since then, he tried to restrain himself from pushing the man too hard. The last thing he needed was to spend another second in a jail cell because the detective couldn't admit when he was wrong.

Novak had been questioning Stabler for nearly five minutes before asking about the knife and the identification made by the victim.

"The way I saw it, the perpetrator had to have lived in the same building as Miss Newton. Most rapes are done by those who live close to us, even people we know," Stabler answered.

"Detective Stabler, when you arrested Mr. Hines, what did you find?" Novak asked.

"I found a switchblade knife in his right jeans pocket. The same type of knife identified by the victim as being the one her rapist used."

"Is this the knife?"

Bobby knew that she was showing the detective the switchblade that Trevor had on him when he had been arrested. It was a regular switchblade, one that anyone could buy at a corner knife and gun store.

"Yes," Stabler answered her. "That's it."

Bobby heard the bag with the knife being dropped on his table as Novak walked by it. He turned his head toward her and shook it slightly at her antics. Inside, he was amused.

"Was there DNA evidence to connect Mr. Hines to the rape?"

"There was nothing found at the scene or during the rape kit done of Miss Newton," Stabler answered. "But that's not unusual."

"How so?" Novak asked.

"Because rapists are getting smarter and most use condoms."

"So, detective," Novak continued, "based on your investigation, what did you do with that knowledge?"

"I knew that if we were going to find out who did it, we needed an identification of the perpetrator by the victim. I got a picture of Mr. Hines and I showed it to the victim."

"And was she able to make a positive identification of the defendant?"

"Yes, ma'am, right away."

Bobby sat up further in his seat as heard that. The detective had lied. "Objection, the witness-" he called out as he stood.

"Overruled," Hawthorne said before he could finish.

Bobby took his seat but only because Novak had continued with her questioning.

Novak asked the detective, "Please continue."

Stabler then said, "She took a look at the picture and said "That's him. That's the man who raped me.""

"Objection, Your Hon-"

"Overruled," Hawthorne ruled again.

As Bobby sat back down, again having his argument cut off by the Judge, he heard Novak's follow-up question, "There was no hesitation in her answer whatsoever?" Novak asked in disbelief.

Bobby was surprised by that; he wasn't expecting her to question her own witness's answer.

"No, there wasn't," Stabler answered.

"No further questions."

"Would the defense like to cross?"

"You bet I would," Bobby softly said as he stood. "Detective Stabler," he said as he made his way to the podium that was in the middle of the two tables. "What's the NYPD's procedure when conducting a photographic lineup?"

Stabler was silent for a second before answering, "If you're asking if I broke procedure by showing Miss Newton one picture, then the answer is no."

"No? Really, that's your answer?"

"It's not a violation-"

"But it's not ethical and it's frowned upon because by law it constitutes an unjustifiably subjective procedure. It persuades the witness to agree with you. Did you give the victim any other choice in who her rapist could've been?"

Stabler again was silent before saying, "No, I didn't."

"Detective, you stated during Miss Novak's questioning that Miss Newton identified my client, Mr. Hines, right away. Could you clarify?"

"What'd you mean?" Stabler asked, confused.

"I mean, how soon was right away? A second? One minute?"

"Objection, Your Honor," Novak announced, interrupting him "I'm certain the detective didn't look at the clock and count the seconds that ticked by before the victim positively ID'd the defendant."

"Sustained," Hawthorne said, ruling in Novak's favor and preventing Stabler from having to answer the question.

Bobby felt his jaw twitch at the ruling, and the fact that the Judge allowed Novak to finish her objection before making his call. He was getting angrier by the second. "Detective Stabler, isn't it true that you had to ask the victim to take a closer look at the one photograph you showed her before she could say for sure if it was the man who raped her?" If Stabler lied to that very precise question, then he knew he had him for perjury.

Stabler was quiet for another moment, this time taking longer before finally answering, "I had to ask her a second time, yes."

"So, there was a hesitation in her answer?"

"No. She couldn't see the photo clearly due to the tears in her eyes and the fact that her left eye was partly swollen shut. But the moment she got a good, clear look, there was no hesitation."

Bobby gave a nod to that before asking, "Was Miss Newton given an sobriety test?"

Stabler hesitated in his response, but he finally answered, "Yes. She had been drinking that evening."

"Was she drunk?"

"She was impaired, yes."

"Slurring her words?"

Stabler let out a heavy sigh as he said, "Her speech was slurred."

"Then how could you have trusted her ID if her impairment was jeopardize?"

"Look, she was certain it was him."

"Did you receive any backlash for showing Miss Newton the one photograph during the identification process?" Bobby quickly asked, changing the direction of the questions. His point was made already with the victim being impaired.

Stabler didn't say anything for a long moment before answering, "I was suspended for a week and brought up on review for my actions."

"You knew that what you did, even though it wasn't technically a violation of procedure, was unethical and would result in disciplinary actions by your superiors?"

"That's correct, but I took the risk because I was certain that we had our guy."

"You were certain? Detective, were you in the apartment during the time Miss Newton was raped?" he asked astonishment, like he thought he had been.

Stabler didn't sound amused as he answered, "Of course I wasn't there."

"Oh…So, you didn't see who attacked Miss Newton and held her at knife point?"

"No."

"You didn't see who forced her on the floor and who raped her?"

"No."

"Objection, Your Honor. Badgering," Novak protested.

"Overruled," Judge Hawthorne ruled, surprising him.

Score one for him. Bobby left the podium as he stepped toward the witness stand as he said, "You're saying that you weren't there-"

"That's correct-" Stabler said while being interrupted as he kept talking.

"And since there is no DNA evidence of Mr. Hines anywhere in the apartment or on the victim, then how can you be so certain that Mr. Hines was the perpetrator?"

"He had the knife on him-"

Bobby reached into his left pocket and pulled out a switchblade. It was his; one that he carried with him at all times. "This knife?" He didn't have to see the look on Stabler's face to know that he was surprised. "This knife…" he said again as he walked over to the table and picked up the knife in the evidence bag. The one Novak had dropped on his desk. Holding up both knives, he showed them to Stabler, the Judge, but especially the jury. "So, which knife was it? The one in my left hand," he emphasized as he held out his knife. "Or the one in my right?" he asked as he held out the knife in evidence. He knew that both were the same in every way because Denise had told him.

"The one in your right," Stabler answered with a near deathly tone. The man was pissed off.

"Are you certain of that?"

Stabler let out a sigh and then a hesitated, "Yes." The detective had lost all of his bravado; he was no longer certain. Bobby knew that, and now so did the jury.

Bobby didn't smile. He didn't want the jury to think he had pulled some sort of trick on the detective, or on them. He put the bag back down on the table and turned around. Instead of going back to the podium, he leaned against the table as he pocketed his own knife while asking, "Did you do a check on all residence of the apartment building where both Miss Newton, and my client, Mr. Hines, lived, to determine how many of them carried the same type of switchblade?"

Stabler was quiet for a moment before answering, "No, I did not."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Miss Newton identified Mr. Hines-"

"She identified him an hour later, at the hospital and after you showed her one photograph. So, why didn't you do the check during the initial investigation?"

"I had reason to believe the perpetrator was Mr. Hines. When I did my search on him, he had the knife that Miss Newton described that her rapist used to threaten her life with."

"And what was that description?"

"I'm not sure. I don't remember her exact-"

Bobby reached around him and fingered the tabs on his files in his binder. He found the one he was looking for and pulled out the documents. "Documented evidence 4B," he said as he took a copy and tossed it on the prosecutors table before walking to the bench and handing one to the Judge. "Is this your report?" he asked as he stopped in front of the witness stand and handed it to Detective Stabler.

After a moment, Stabler answered, "Yes."

"Could you read the highlighted part, where it has the description of the knife, please?"

Stabler took a long moment, probably reading it to himself, before reading it out loud, "Nine inch blade, white handle with two round silver dots on either end."

"And now would you read Miss Newton's description of her rapist, please?"

Stabler was again quiet, this time longer, before answering, "All she said was that it was a black guy."

Bobby was quiet for a moment before asking, "That's it?"

"Yeah."

"So, let me see if I got his right. You get a perfectly precise description of the knife used, yet she can't remember anything about her attacker other than the fact that he was black? No scars? No facial hair? Tattoos?" Bobby asked as he remembered the description of Trevor. Trevor had a cut over his left eye from the fight that resulted in his assault conviction nine years ago; and he also had a mustache. The same mustache he's had for four years.

"She couldn't describe him, no, but once she saw his picture-"

"A single picture instead of the required six for a lineup that you had to show her twice."

"Objection. That wasn't a question," he heard Novak say behind him.

"Sustained. Mr. Goren that had already been established. If you don't have a question-"

"I have a question, Your Honor," he said, cutting the Judge off. "Detective Stabler, what was your reason for suspecting Mr. Hines _other_ than the fact that he lived in the building, he was black, and he had a prior conviction of assault?"

After a long minute, Judge Hawthorne ordered Stabler, "Answer the question, detective."

When Stabler still had no answer for him, Bobby said, "It's okay, Your Honor, he doesn't need to answer that." He went to turn back to the defense table before turning back around, "Oh, one more thing. I did do a check of all the residence living in the building, detective. Out of the two-hundred and fifty residences, I found that eighty-seven of them own switchblades, twenty-two of which have criminal records and five of those were convicted in the past for rape. My client was _not _one of those five, because rape is a long way from assault. The truth is, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you needed someone to pin it on-"

"Objection! Your Honor-" Novak went to protest when the Judge cut her off.

"Sustained. Mr. Goren-"

"No further questions," he told the Judge, but at that point it didn't matter. The jury got the picture.

"Miss Novak, redirect?" Judge Hawthorne asked.

"Yes, Your Honor," Novak said before she then asked Stabler, "Detective Stabler, based on the evidence you collected, the victim's testimony, and your judgment and experience as a seasoned detective, do you believe that the defendant, Mr. Hines, is guilty of rape?"

"Yes, I am," Stabler stressed.

"Nothing further for this witness."

Before Novak could call in her next witness, the victim, the Judge adjourned the court until after lunch. Once the jury was out of the courtroom and his client was being led back to the holding cell, Bobby turned toward the prosecution table as he said incredulously, "_Badgering_?"

"Hey, I tried. You were kicking my ass up there," Novak told him.

Bobby put all his files back into his binder and then dropped it into his briefcase as he told her, "The day I badger Elliot Stabler is the day I can see again. He's tough, and, he deserved it."

"God, I now wished the Judge would have agreed to the deal we made. I knew you were going to get to Stabler. You pissed him off. After that last question, he looked like he was going to jump you, or start going off like last time."

"He shouldn't have done what he did. He's just pissed because I called him out on it. And now because of it, he could cost you your case," he said as he picked up his case and pulled out the walking stick.

He unfolded it as he walked around the tables and to the gate. He knew the courtroom by memory and could easily move around it without the stick; it was out in the hallway with people around where he would need to use it.

"Don't worry; I had plenty to say to Stabler when I first found out that he had done it. He knew better."

Bobby heard the courtroom door being swung open and then a loud male voice.

"Hey, counselor!" It was Stabler.

"Take is easy, El, don't forget he can't see," said another person, a woman, and Bobby knew that it was Stabler's partner, Detective Olivia Benson.

He stopped walking as he felt a hand suddenly push him on the shoulder. He tensed as he told Stabler, "Do that again and I'll charge you with assault."

"Yeah, I bet you'll love nothing more. You have no problem getting rapists off-"

"My client's innocent, and if he gets off, you only have yourself to blame to that stupid stunt you pulled," he snapped back.

"El!" Benson called out as he heard a scuffle. "Cool it!"

Bobby stepped back as he envisioned the detective trying to come toward him. He went to walk through the aisle between the seats when he heard another voice.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I need to speak with Mr. Goren."

He turned at the unexpected voice and stood stunned as he said, "Alex?"

"Who are you?" Benson asked.

"Detective Alex Eames," she said, "Major Case. Are you through yelling at him, because we need to talk in private?"

Bobby smiled a little as he started walking toward her voice. She was on the other side of the seats, having come in the opposite door he had been trying to leave through.

"I'll meet up with you before court reconvenes, okay, Goren?" Novak called out to him.

"Okay," he off-handedly said as he stopped somewhere close to Alex. "Hey."

Alex touched him on the arm, letting him know she was there as she said "Hey" right back.

"What, uh…what do you need to talk about?"

"Well, I want to go grab some lunch. I'm in court today too, and once I found out you were also in the building, I thought we could go together."

Bobby smiled wider as he asked, "You want to have lunch with me?"

"Yeah, why not?"

Shaking his head, he couldn't think of anything as to why not. "No, no reason. Uh…where?"

"Somewhere close. I only have an hour and a half."

"Yeah, me too. I know just the place," he told her as he held out his arm, offering it to her. Once Alex wrapped her arm around his, he held up his walking stick as he said, "I'll drive."

Alex laughed at that as she let him lead the way down the hall, into the elevators, and then out of the building as he headed to a bar near the courthouse. The bar was a great place to have lunch because during the weekdays, it served the best steak burgers, fries, and iced tea in the five boroughs. Most of the customers to the bar during the day were city workers: doctors, lawyers, police officers, nurses, business men and woman, and college students and professors. At night, it was the same story.

They got a table by the wall for two and placed their orders, which were the same: burger, fries, and iced tea. As they waited, he asked, "How's your day so far?"

"Frustrating. I'm testifying in a murder case and the defense attorney is trying to tarnish my reputation and character as a witness."

"I hope you're putting him in his place. You're honest, moral, have an impeccable reputation, and you're a great cop, so…" he said with a shrug. "Don't let him get to you. You know who you are and that's all that matters. Nothing he can say will change that. If he doesn't know how to win without bringing up dirt that has no merit on the matter than he shouldn't be a lawyer."

Alex was quiet for a moment and he wondered if he said too much. Then, she said, "Thank you."

Smiling softly, he said, "You're welcome."

"No, I mean it, Bobby. Thank you. All day today, I've had a lawyer trying to tell me and convince a jury that I'm not worth a damn as a cop, and it's nice to have a lawyer tell me the truth, and tell me what I know to be true about who I am. You didn't have to do that, but you did. I appreciate it."

He gave a nod as he realized that what he said was more than just an encouraging comment. Alex had really appreciated it and seemed to have really needed to hear that. He didn't know what to say other than that other than what he had already said.

"I hope that wasn't what you did to Detective Stabler," she said as their drinks were placed in front of them.

"Uh, no. I would never hit below the belt like that. I kept to the facts of the case, to the evidence, and if I can't use it to win, then I never try to win by bringing up character flaws or try to tarnish a witness's reputation. Now, if you're a pathological liar or I know for a fact that you've snitched on suspects before for a reduced sentence or you've committed perjury before, then I'll bring it up."

"As anyone would."

"But never to someone who's genuinely trying to do the right thing and telling the truth."

"I'm glad to hear it."

It wasn't long after that their plates were placed in front of them and they started to eat. Bobby was still getting over the fact that Alex wanted to have lunch with him so he wasn't quite sure what to say. Then, he decided to ask her, "Alex, why uh…why did you ask me to lunch?"

She was quiet for a second, probably wondering why he asked, before telling him, "I have no ulterior motive, Bobby. I honestly wanted to have lunch with you because we were both in court. I don't know anybody else and I didn't catch Barek in time before she was back out on the street."

He took a sip of the tea before saying, "You mean I was your second choice?"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes you did. You just said you missed Barek."

She groaned in frustration before saying, "Okay, yes, I was going to try and get lunch with Barek first, but I was thinking if you were in court too, then I should just ask you."

Bobby smirked a little at her frustration before saying, "Well, I'm glad I was a thought then. Have I been on your mind a lot lately?"

"Don't make me smack you," she said right back.

He chuckled a little, dropping it, but he still wanted to find out the answer to that. "You should've stayed at your father's last night. After you left, he pulled out the Scrabble board."

"Oh, lord. How badly did you beat the old man?"

"He yelled at me because I beat him with the triple word score for the letters 'X' and 'I'. He swore up and down that they didn't make a word. He had to break out the dictionary to verify that it is in fact, a noun, and can also be used as an adjective."

"Isn't 'X' 'I' the Roman numeral for eleven?"

"Yeah, and it's also the fourth letter in the Greek alphabet, as well as the name of a river in South China," he explained. "John challenged me in a rematch for tonight. I told him I could if I had someone else there to tell me what the letters were. Mike came in handy for that game."

Alex laughed at that before saying, "My dad's probably at home studying the dictionary right now. He hates to lose."

"Me and him both. Next he'll challenge me to a game of Chess."

"Be careful with that, he was in the Chess Club in high school."

Bobby paused at that as he tried to imagine John Eames with being in a Chess Club. "Really?"

"I've seen the pictures."

He then asked, "You play Chess?"

"Oh, no. I stick to Checkers."

Smiling, he said, "I'm would love to play against you some day."

"Um, careful what you wish for. I haven't lost yet."

"I believe it," Bobby said as he thought of being able to spend some more quality time with Alex. He didn't know why, or where he got the nerve, but he asked once they were done with their food, "Would you uh…Alex, tonight if you're not busy with a case, or if something comes up, would uh, would you like to have dinner…with me?" As soon as he asked, he felt his lungs stop functioning as he waited her response.

And did she make him wait. Alex was quiet for what seemed like hours before she said, "Yeah, okay. I'd love to."

He let out a breath before smiling a little too wide. He didn't care, he was happy. "Great. Uh, I'll call you after I get done today and we can make plans."

"Sounds good."

Yes, it did sound good. Better than anything he's heard in a long time. He was going to have a dinner date with Alex Eames.

He walked her back to the courtroom where she was testifying and promised again to call once he was done in court before heading down the hall to the other courtroom where he was due back.

A few minutes after he returned to court, it was called back into session and Casey Novak called her only other witness, the victim. Novak asked Miss Newton the standard questions: when the crime happened, where, how, and most importantly who she believed committed the crime against her.

Miss Newton didn't hesitate to point to his client and say that he was the one who raped her. Bobby felt Trevor tense beside him as he was being called a rapist.

It seemed like an hour went by before he had a chance to cross-examine. Bobby only had one question for the victim. As he stood, he flipped open his binder and felt the tabs until he found the right one. Pulling out the group of six photographs, he sat that on top of the table before pulling out a black wool cap. He handed the cap to Trevor and asked him to put it on and pull it down to cover his face.

"Mr. Goren, what are you doing?"

"I'm proving my argument, Judge," Bobby answered before he addressed the witness. "Miss Newton," Bobby said as he walked around the table as he picked up the group of photos. "You said that you identified Mr. Hines after you got a good, clear look at his picture an hour after your attack, is that correct?"

"Yes. I know who did it, it was him."

Bobby held up his hand as he said, "I didn't ask you to identify anyone just yet, Miss Newton, okay. Now, the night that you were raped, you said that you had been out with friends, two friends to be exact, and you had been partying-"

"I was celebrating-"

"Please, Miss Newton, let me ask a question first before answering. Thank you," Bobby said with a small smile as he continued, but using the word 'celebrate' instead of 'partying'. "You were _celebrating_ with your friends, and you said that you had a couple of drinks. How long were you out celebrating?"

"Only for an hour and a half. One of my friends wasn't feeling well so we cut it short."

"Huh-huh, and what were they?" he asked.

"What were what?"

"Oh, uh…what were the drinks that you had?"

"Well, I only had three Long Island's and two shots."

"Uh, Long Island Iced Teas, you mean?"

"Yes, three of those."

"Three Long Island's, which consist of shots of Rum, Gin, Vodka, and Tequila, and you had three of those, along with two shots…in an hour and a half. So, all together, you had actually up to six drinks. And how much do you weigh?"

"Excuse me?"

Bobby smiled slightly, almost embarrassed, as he said, "I don't mean to embarrass you. I know that a man should never ask a woman that, but for the purpose of my questioning, I would like to know how much you weigh."

She was quiet for a moment before saying, "One-forty."

"A hundred and forty pounds... and you had three Long Island Ice Teas and two shots. Are you aware of how the Blood Alcohol Content is determined, Miss Newton?"

"Objection, Your Honor. Relevance," Novak protested.

"I'm getting to it, Your Honor," Bobby said before the Judge could make a ruling.

Judge Hawthorne was quiet for a moment before saying, "Overruled. I'll allow it for now, but you better be getting somewhere soon, Mr. Goren."

Focusing back on his questioning, he asked again, "Miss Newton?"

She hesitated a moment before saying, "No, I'm not aware of it."

"It's determined based on percentage of alcohol in the blood, and body weight. You had six drinks, in under two hours, and you weigh a hundred and forty pounds…That would've given you a BAC of 0.19, that's twice over the legal limit. How long after you returned home before you were attacked?"

"I hardly got my door open before I was attacked by him from behind."

"Do you keep the lights on when you go out?" he asked.

"No," she answered without hesitating.

"Then…isn't it true that you didn't have time to turn on your lights?"

She was quiet for long moment, and even then, she stammered her answer, "I saw him. I saw the man who-"

"But you said you were attacked at the door. And you just stated that you don't keep the lights on. Miss Newton, were the lights on in any of the rooms in your apartment during the attack?"

"Objection, Your Honor. Badgering the witness."

"Overruled. Your witness encouraged the questioning, Miss Novak."

Bobby waited for the answer to his last question. When after a long minute he didn't get one, he asked, "Miss Newton, do you need me to repeat the question?"

"No, the lights weren't on, but I know it was him," she said.

"You know for certain that it was Mr. Hines who attacked and raped you while you were impaired with a BAC of 0.19, and in a dark apartment?"

"Yes," she stressed in anger.

Bobby finally walked up to the stand and presented her with the group of six photographs. "This, Miss Newton, is an accurate lineup. It contains six photographs of six different people, one in which is the man accused today of attacking you and raping you. Will you please identify that man?"

With Trevor's face being covered with the wool cap, he knew that she couldn't look over at him and make the identification. She had to pick him out of the lineup. Bobby waited as he gave Miss Newton enough time to look the photos over. He was taking a real gamble with this one; Miss Newton could have been looking and studying his client's features since day one, but he doubted it.

"It's the second guy."

Bobby wanted to smile. He put the lineup together with the help from Logan. Mike had told him that he put Trevor last. In the second slot, he put Ron Carver. "Are you a hundred percent certain?"

"Yes, that's him."

Bobby took the group of photos back and handed it to the Judge. He heard a slight mumble from the Judge before taking it back and showing it to Novak. She handed it back to without a sound as he then showed the jury. He heard the soft chatter and the intact of breaths. "Let the court know, that Miss Newton has identified ADA Ronald Carver as her attacker." He wanted to smirk at that, knowing that if Ron was in the courtroom how astonished he would have been. "Mr. Hines, you can take off the cap now, and Judge, I have no further questions."

Miss Newton left but not before going off on not only the court, and how it was a trick, but at him as well. After the courtroom was quieted by the gavel, Judge Hawthorne asked if Novak had any more witnesses to call.

"No, Your Honor, the prosecution rests."

Bobby then stood as he addressed the Judge, "Your Honor, I move for an immediate mistrial. The victim couldn't identify my client as her attacker, and my client has rights."

The Judge was quiet for a moment before he asked, "Miss Novak?"

"There's no opposition from the State, Your Honor," Novak said in defeat. She knew he had just won the case.

"Thank you, Miss Novak." Judge Hawthorne was quiet again before saying, "Motion granted in the move for a mistrial. Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your assistance in these proceedings today, you are dismissed."

Bobby breathed out deeply as he sat down and patted Trevor on the arm.

"Oh my God," Trevor said, "You did it. Thank you."

Bobby smiled as the case was dismissed and Trevor Hines was officially declared a free man. "Told you I'll have you home in time for dinner."

As he was leaving the courtroom, he heard Novak coming up behind him.

"Congratulations, Goren. Another win in that cap of yours."

"A righteous win at that. He was actually innocent."

"I know, that was a shock," Novak said in agreement. "Do you think they'll actually get the right guy now?"

"I hope so. I'm sure Stabler and Benson can track down those other men in the building who it could've been. Hopefully they'll get lucky and the guy will confess."

"And then he'll call you up to defend him."

"Oh, no, I'm done with this. I'll let some Public Defender try and plea it out."

"After that victim's sketchy ID, you bet I'll make a deal. Think Carver will be too mad that you had a victim ID him as her rapist?"

Bobby couldn't stop laughing as he headed to the elevators. "I didn't make her do it." As he headed down to the ground floor, he pulled out his cell and made two calls. First to Alex, and then to John.

"Hello, Bobby. Are you ready for me to pick you up?" John asked as he answered the phone.

"Uh, no, actually. I've got plans for tonight, and I've got a ride."

"Plans? With who? Logan?"

Bobby didn't know whether to tell the man that he had a date with his daughter, so instead, he said, "No, it's…I've got a meeting." He hated himself for lying, but he didn't know if Alex wanted him to know.

"Oh, okay. Do you know how long you'll be?"

"It'll be a couple of hours, at least. I have a key so you don't need to wait up."

"Well, be careful. You don't know if someone might decide to take another shot at you."

"I got it, John. I'll watch my six, all right? Have a good night and I'll either see you when I get home or in the morning."

"Okay. Oh, wait, before you hang up, how did court go?"

"I got a mistrial," he said with a huge grin on his face as he stepped outside. The moment he did, he heard the reporters shouting questions at him from all round. "I gotta go," he quickly said into the phone before flipping it shut.

Bobby never was good at addressing the vultures, but in this case he had no problem addressing the questions about the innocent man who helped to regain his freedom after eleven months of being in jail for a crime he didn't do.

By the time he made it down the steps, which seemed to take an hour, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Bobby!"

He headed toward Alex and suddenly felt a hand on his arm.

"My car's right over her," she told him as she helped him to it.

Bobby got into the passenger seat and smiled as he told her, "I got a mistrial."

"I heard. That's great. He was innocent."

"So," he asked as she pulled out into traffic. "How did it go with you?"

"I won't know until after closing arguments. I don't think it'll take long for the jury to reach a verdict, so hopefully I'll know by this time tomorrow."

"But you stuck it to the defense attorney, right?"

"Oh, I laid into him all right. And I think I helped the prosecution to win it."

Bobby smiled at hearing that. He was happy for her, and he was glad they were going out. He felt like celebrating himself.

TBC…

PS: What about the date, you ask? You have to wait for the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and for all the new readers giving this AU a shot. Again, updates are going to continue to be slow and I deeply apologize for that.

* * *

_The Waterfront_

_Williamsburg, Brooklyn_

Once they pulled away from the curb, she asked, "So, where are we going?"

"Well that depends on what you're in the mood for."

Alex thought about it before telling him, "Honestly, I'm in the mood for either Italian or seafood." She looked over at Bobby and saw the pleased smile on his face.

"I was thinking Italian myself. I know a place that's just over the Williamsburg Bridge. I think you'll love it."

Alex glanced over at him as she made her way east. She had been more than a little apprehensive about agreeing to dinner with Bobby. They had a great time at the game, but that had been with Mike and in a stadium full of people, and with a game to pay attention too. During the game, and their small talk, she learned little about the defense attorney who was slowly becoming a friend.

Like she had told Barek yesterday, she liked the guy. She thought not only was he good looking, but very intelligent, kind, and ethical despite the fact he was an attorney; and, so far, she also found him funny and genuinely truthful. All those things made her stomach flutter with nerves because she could easy find herself falling for the man. That caused her to be nervous for several reasons: one, she hadn't gotten serious with another man since her husband Joe died, and the other reason was at home waiting for her to get off of work.

She hadn't told Bobby everything about her, not wanting to scare him off too soon before they could get closer. But, it wasn't fair to keep him in the dark about some aspects of her life if he was going to ask her out on dates. So, she had decided that tonight, during dinner, she would tell him why it was hard for her to date. Why she never got too close or serious with a man. And why it would be hard for them if he decided to continue his pursuit.

Bobby leaned down closer to her, making her nearly shiver as his warm breath hit her neck, and very softly asked, "What're you wearing?"

If she hadn't caught herself, remembering that he couldn't see her, she would've smacked him. Alex chuckled as she said, "And why do you need to know that?"

"I'd like to know. You know how I look, it's only fair."

She glanced over at him and seeing his anticipated look, she said, "If you must know, I'm wearing slacks."

"Black?"

"Yes, black. My blouse is a sky blue V-neck, over a white sleeveless shirt and a thin black leather jacket. On my feet, I'm wearing three-inch high boots, also black." When she took a quick glance over at him as she headed over the bridge she saw the slight smile on his face.

"Thank you," he softly whispered to her before sitting back up in his seat. "That was very…descriptive. We're on the bridge now?"

"Yep."

"Take the first exit and keep right, head back toward the river," he told her before explaining how to get the restaurant.

Alex followed his directions and the moment she saw it she had to ask, "The Waterfront?"

"That'll be it."

She pulled into the parking lot that was enclosed by a limestone wall and found a parking spot. The restaurant had three floors and divided into sections. The first and second floor was the main restaurant. The third was a banquet hall that could be reserved for special events like a wedding. "I've heard of this place. It's hard to get a reservation," she said as she looked over at him.

Bobby unbuckled his belt and went to get out without saying anything. He stopped halfway out the car as he told her, "I know the head chef and owner."

Alex got out and spotted him waiting in front of the car for her. "You know the chef and owner? How?"

He smiled slightly and she saw the heat of embarrassment heat up his face before he dropped his head and told her softly, "Uh, we, uh, she and I used to be…really good friends."

"You mean you dated the owner," Alex teased as she pocketed her keys and walked over to him. "I feel under dressed."

Bobby gave a slight shake of his head as he told her, "There's no dress code. And from what you told me, you look great."

As she stepped up to him, Alex saw his right hand reach out to touch her arm before it found its way to the small of her back. She watched as several cars also pulled into the lot and pass in front of them. Bobby had his walking stick out and unfolded in his left hand but he was also waiting for the cars to pass before starting for the front of the restaurant.

Once they were across the parking lot though, he had to ask her which way. She wrapped her arm around his waist as she started to her right, taking them right up to the door and then inside. They were immediately greeted by a young hostess.

"Hello, welcome to The Waterfront, will it just be the two of you this evening?"

"Yes," Bobby told he hostess as she looked around the place.

"Would you like indoor seating, the patio, or rooftop?"

Bobby turned toward her and waited for her answer.

"Rooftop?" Alex asked the hostess.

"It's our new lounge area that's located on the roof. You'll be able to take advantage of our half price drinks as well as selections for our menu."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to have to see the roof. Is that okay?" she asked.

Bobby only smiled.

They were shown to the elevator and rode it up to the roof. During the ride up, they both remained quiet and she took the opportunity to check her cell phone. There were no messages for her so she sent one to her sister Liz, informing her that she would be home a little later.

Once the doors opened, Alex's breath nearly caught. The view of the Manhattan skyline from the rooftop was amazing.

"What is it?" Bobby asked her as he leant down closer. "You took a sharp breath."

"The view, it's absolutely breathtaking." Alex felt a pang of sorrow at the fact that Bobby couldn't enjoy it with her, but he seemed happy as he smiled a little as they walked out.

Another host showed them to a table and she had a perfect view of everything. Directly in front of her was the harbor with the skyline of Manhattan and the Brooklyn Bridge, just beyond that she could see the Statue of Liberty. To her right was the Williamsburg Bridge and the skyline beyond she could see the Empire State Building along with the Chrysler Building. She had to take out her cell phone and get a picture of it all.

Once shown to their seats and given menus, she started to feel slightly nervous. She was actually on a date with Robert Goren. It amazed her how quickly this had progressed from trying to be the man's friend to…wondering if they could be much more.

As she looked over at him, she realized he was "reading" the menu, and that was when she actually looked down at hers and saw the braille beside the written text. "Wow. This is the first menu I've ever seen with braille on it."

Smirking slightly, Bobby said, "One of the reasons I like coming here."

"Did your past influence on the owner have something to do with it?" The smirk turned into a deep blush and Alex smiled.

He started laughing as he sat back and rubbed at his head then jaw. "Well, you know, it might've."

Alex chuckled at his embarrassment as she returned her attention to the menu. At seeing the selections, she smiled. She could choose either seafood or Italian, or a mixture of both. She went with the mixture of both once the waitress returned to take their orders. Since she was driving she stuck with a cocktail while Bobby ordered a wine she didn't know, yet alone how to pronounce it in French. Bobby said it without a moment of hesitation.

"Do you know French, or just how to pronounce wines?"

Smiling a little, Bobby answered, "I don't know French, no. I only know a few phrases and how to pronounce the wines I like, and some dishes. How about you? Know any other languages?"

Alex briefly gave that any thought before saying, "Does urban slang count?"

Bobby chuckled and said just as seriously, "I think it does, actually."

"How many do you know?"

He wrinkled his head in confusion before asking, "Fluently? Uh…" he blew out a breath of air and Alex's jaw nearly dropped as he said, "Six."

"Six?"

He gave a shrug as he said, "I had to learn a lot of them while in the Army. Others were self-taught because I wanted to learn them, like Spanish."

"I bet in comes in handy with all your cliental."

"It does," he said with a nod just as the waitress came back.

She gave them their drinks along with a bread basket and an oil dipping sauce. Sipping on her cocktail, she looked around the rooftop and at the view once again as Bobby excused himself suddenly to use the restroom. She immediately went to stand to help him but before she had her drink back on the table he was already up and halfway across the roof. That was the only bad thing about the roof, no restrooms; so they had to go back down to one of the floors.

As she waited, she took out her cell and called home. After a couple of rings her sister picked up.

"Hey, sis, what's up? I thought you were having dinner?"

"I am. He's in the restroom so I thought I'd call and check-up."

Liz was silent for a moment and Alex could almost see her sister's brain turning in her mind. "He? You're with a guy? Oh, my God, are you actually on a date with someone?"

Alex sighed and rubbed at her head. "Yes."

"That's great! Who is he?"

"I didn't call to talk about it. I called to see how things were going."

"Nothing's going on; same ol' stuff and they're asleep. Who's your date? Anyone I know?"

Rolling her eyes, she debated whether to say anything to Liz or not. Finally, she said, "First off, it's not a date. We're just friends, and, he's a lawyer."

Liz was quiet again before she heard a startled, "Is it that Goren guy? You're dating dad's boss?"

"He's not dad's boss and I said it wasn't a-"

"He pays him to drive him around, Alex. That's what bosses do!"

She grew more irritated as she said into the phone, "It doesn't matter, Liz. I told you that we're not on a date. We're out as friends who wanted to get dinner together."

"Uh-huh. You know, you haven't been out with a man, friend or not, just to have dinner since Joe. So, you either really want to be this man's friend, or you want to date him."

Alex couldn't say anything after that. She could deny it to her sister until she was blue in the face, but that would've been exactly what it was. Denial. She did like Bobby, a lot. And if she knew that he wanted what she wanted out of life, then she could see herself wanting more with him. However, at the moment, she didn't know him well enough. That was why she agreed to dinner. She wanted to get to know Bobby Goren. "I've got to go," she finally said as she hung up the phone.

Taking a breath, she rubbed at her head as the waitress came back with their drinks. Coming up behind the waitress was Bobby.

He looked slightly lost before he reached out and touched the back of the chair. "Alex?"

"Yep."

He smiled slightly as he sat down and sighed. "I thought I got myself lost there for a second."

"You're pretty good at that; getting around on your own. And watch your hands. Your glass is right in front of you."

Bobby looked extremely proud by that as he said, "I never was the…fearful type," as he slid his hand along the table until his fingers touched the base of his wineglass. He took a sip before asking, "What about you?"

"I'm a woman cop, what'd you think?"

He smiled a little smugly as he rubbed at his jaw, scratching at the hair growth. Alex remembered him earlier that day, and he looked pretty clean shaven to her then. She figured he had to shave every day to keep from growing a beard.

"You don't do this often, do you?"

Alex snapped out of her thoughts as she asked, "Do what?"

Bobby gestured between them, saying, "This. Dating."

Alex huffed out a laugh and feeling slightly embarrassed. "Am I that obvious?"

Shaking his head, he said, "No." Then he laughed a little and said, "Yes, but only because I don't do this much either and I realized we were doing the same thing."

"And what was that?"

"Uh…" he trailed off with a shrug before saying, "Thinking…instead of talking, to each other. We talked a lot at the game, but this…it's different."

"Why is that you think?" she asked him for two reasons; she was used to questioning people and didn't know what else to say, and because she genuinely was curious as to his answer.

Bobby was quiet for a moment as he thought about it before they were interrupted by the serving of their food. Alex made an annoyed look at being interrupted as she looked toward Bobby. It hit her again that he couldn't see the look and so she quickly dropped it as she sat in silence, waiting for the waitress to leave and for his answer.

It was a little awkward. Most of her life and work depended on non-verbal communication that being with a man who couldn't read her just by looking was going to be an adjustment. She realized she was going to have to verbalize everything. She wasn't entirely good at that, especially in relationships where she tended to do and say so much with just a look, or she hid so much without speaking, that this was going to present a challenge.

Once the waitress was gone, and Bobby had time to think, he leaned a little on the table as he said, "We're not as fearless as we'd like to believe." Wiggling his finger between them, he continued as he said, "We're both scared for good reason. This is new, and not uh…_typical_. Look, this is just dinner, Alex. And if anything comes of this, the most I'm hoping for is a friend. Yes, I really like you…a lot, but…I know me. Soon enough, you'll know me too."

"Are you trying to scare me away before we can even get started?"

He shut his mouth quickly at that. Then a small smile twisted at the edges of his lips as he said, "Okay, I'll stop talking."

Alex had a smartass comment to say back to him but kept from saying it. Instead, she picked up her fork and knife and started eating. As they ate they talked about the food, the nice weather they were having in the city despite it being October, and work.

With the mention of the case that was coming up, the one involving D.W. McCullough, Bobby quickly changed the subject as he asked, "Why don't you tell me more about you?"

"Bobby, all we ever do is talk about me," she said as she finished her food and pushed her plate away.

"Well, I'm not that interesting."

Alex chuckled before taking a sip of her drink. "And I am?" After a moment, she said, "Just spill, Bobby. I want to know why you took the case."

He shifted in the seat and rubbed at under his sunglasses at his eyes and bridge of his nose. She could tell that he didn't want to actually voice the reason, especially to her. However, she realized she needed to hear him say it. It was one of the reasons she was having a hard time accepting the fact that she wanted to date this man. She didn't know if she could get over the fact that he took a case to defend a killer simply for the paycheck.

Finally, after giving a groan in defeat, he dropped his hand and told her, "It's a big case. The most prominent of my career so far, and it'll be the first time I'll argue a case in Supreme Court, and go up against Jack McCoy. It's a challenge, and so I took it."

Sitting back in her chair, she gave a nod but she wasn't the least bit satisfied with hearing it or by making him squirm. "Is that the truth?"

"You mean the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God?" Bobby sat still for a long moment as his fingers twirled the empty wineglass around by the stem. She noticed that he had a hard time keeping his hands still for too long. "No," he finally admitted, "but the other reasons are personal ones."

"You mean selling your soul?"

"I didn't-" he nearly snapped before he caught himself. Cupping his hand over his mouth, he took a deep breath before he could continue. "I'm not going to sit here and defend my actions to you. It's my job. I can't sit around waiting for innocent clients."

"You can always come over to the prosecution," she told him as she finished off her drink.

Bobby shook his head at that suggestion. "I'll never work for the state."

"Why not? At least you'll be doing good-"

"I'm doing good right where I'm at," he defended. "Look, Alex, as a prosecutor your job is to-to, to carry out the will of the state. And it doesn't matter who the defendant is, and I'm not talking about status, but whether they're innocent or guilty. A prosecutor's job is to convict them no matter their guilt and to get the strictest, harshest punishment. Yes, there are criminals who deserve that, I've talked a few clients of my own into life in prison just because of that fact. Then there are some who don't deserve any of it. And my job is to make the judge or the jury to see that as well. I could never convict someone of a crime, send them to their death, and then find out later that they were innocent. As a defense attorney, I don't have to guess at guilt. I either know or I don't, but either way, my job is to fight for a life. Plain and simple."

"Even if that person is a rapist?"

"I don't defend rapists unless I know for a fact, or at least believe with all my heart, that they're innocent."

"But murderers you'll defend for a big fat paycheck."

If Bobby could actually stare at someone, he would be doing it right then. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew he was looking right at her.

Alex didn't feel the least bit sorry for saying that, or for making him sit back in his chair like he'd been punched in the gut. However, she was sorry because she suddenly felt like she'd ruined their nice evening together. "I shouldn't have said that."

He shook his head as he said, "It's okay. I know that a lot of people, especially cops, have a problem with us lawyers. But, all I want you to do is to not confuse my job with me as a man, okay?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means don't attack me like I'm the bad guy here," he said as he tilted his head a little, like he'd just realized something, before he asked, "Are you ready to leave or would you like dessert?"

Alex took a breath as she looked him over. He was getting restless and she knew that he probably wanted to leave now. "I'm ready to go."

As they got up and started toward the elevator, she couldn't help but feel the pain in her chest. Now she really was sorry she had said anything about his job. It seemed like she had hurt him, but she couldn't stop herself. It was the way she was, and how she was as a cop. She didn't back down, and she questioned. The fact that she really wanted to get to know Bobby, to know more than the superficial, was another reason why she had to ask. If they were going to have a personal relationship that went beyond friendship, she had to support him in his job, in his work, and his reasons for why he did it. She had to love him, and a part of that love came from whether or not she could love a man who defended the murderers she tried to put away.

Once they were out of the restaurant and in the car, Bobby finally spoke again. "You were right."

Alex glanced over at him as she took a right turn out of the parking lot. She had to look that way anyway to be sure it was clear to pull out. "About what?"

She heard the sharp breath he took in before telling her, "What I said before was the truth, but the main reason was for the money." He shifted in the seat and she could feel his unease as he told her, "I'm a great lawyer, Alex. But, I have a tendency to accept little to no pay from my clients, especially those who can't afford to pay me and who I want to help. This is my purpose in life. I know it. And I'll do it for free if I could; the money has never been the driving force for me. But, like I said, I have to make a living. I was very close to losing everything including my house. I was months behind on all my bills…When I received the check from McCullough, even after I declined to represent him, I was torn. Either I accept it and secure my future, or don't and drive my business into the ground. I did what I had to do."

"And now?" she asked as she steered the car toward her father's house.

"Now? I don't know about now."

"You think you'll be this conflicted if you worked for the state?" she asked as she looked over at him.

He turned his head toward her as he said, "It's still a double edge sword. And I already told you, I'll never work for the state."

She really didn't know what to think of that. It was completely opposite of everything she believed in and felt as a cop. "You would really rather spend your entire career defending the likes of John Tagman and Nelda Carlson?"

Bobby gave a nod as he said, "Until my dying day, Alex. Hopefully that'll come later rather than sooner." He then asked her, "Any luck finding who it was that hired the hit on me?"

Alex sighed and shook her head. "Sorry."

"I trust you. You're a great cop, Alex, you'll find him…or her."

Alex wished she had his confidence. The case was growing colder by the minute and they had little leads and no motive. At this moment they were throwing everything at the wall and seeing what stuck; and so far, little stuck.

They remained quiet for the rest of the drive to Queens and around the neighborhoods to where her dad lived. Bobby was the first to get out and while she took her time getting her purse and taking the keys out of the ignition, he had time to walk around the car and open the door for her.

She smiled slightly as she said, "Thanks," as she got out of the car.

"I wanted to do that at the restaurant but you were too quick."

As they headed up the walk to the front door, Bobby said, "I understand why you wanted to know."

"You do?" she said a little too sarcastically, causing him to smirk but in was more of a grimace on his face. He was still hurt even though he said he understood.

"Yes, I do." He stopped at the door and let her unlock it as he explained. "If…uh, I mean, if you wanted, or thought about uh, pursuing a more…personal relationship with me, you'll want to know who I am as a person, right? You'll want to know my morals and how I thought about certain issues…This is important. How I do my job is important to you, just as I would want to know if you were a good and decent cop who wasn't corrupt."

She smiled a little as she pushed the door open while asking, "_If _I want to pursue a relationship with you?"

"I think I included the word 'personal' in there."

"And by personal you mean intimate."

The ease was returning to his small smiles and he said, "I didn't want to assume anything."

Before she could say anything to that, there was a noise by the door and when she looked, she saw the source of it right before a soft bark broke the tension between them.

"Atticus," Bobby exclaimed in surprise as he immediately dropped down and captured his dog in a hug.

Alex knew that her dad was going to pick Atticus up that afternoon, but they had kept it from Bobby. Her dad had told Bobby earlier that day that the doctor wanted to keep him for an extra night, which had been a lie but one well worth it.

"I thought they weren't releasing him today?" Bobby said as he picked the dog up and carried him into the house.

"It was my dad's idea to surprise you," she told him as she stood by the open door. She needed to get home.

Bobby must have noticed that she wasn't coming into the dark living room. The lights were all off and Bobby stood in the middle of the room, holding his dog and not noticing. Setting the dog down, he asked, "You're not coming in?"

"I have to get home."

He walked over to her slowly and she reached out to touch him on his chest when he got close. His hand came up and took hers in his; warmth spread in her gut and tried to fight it down. It was a losing battle. "Thank you for having dinner with me. I had a great time."

"Even after the way it ended?"

He smiled and shrugged, saying, "I was with you…And, I don't mind us disagreeing on a few things if it means we can agree on a few others."

"Like what?"

"Like…you going out with me and Mike this weekend. We still owe you those free drinks."

Alex hardly took the time to think about it before she said, "Okay, but I get to pick the place."

"Deal," he said as his smile grew wider. "Have a good night," he told her as he brought their entwined hands together up to his lips.

She felt him give the back of her hand a kiss, making her first still in shock before smiling. "You too," she whispered.

As she left, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him waiting by the open door. He didn't go in until after she started her car and edged away from the curb.

* * *

_John's House_

The smell of coffee, along with the help of Atticus, led him from the guest room that was in the back of the house to the kitchen. He could hear soft talking coming through the door, two men and one of whom he didn't recognize, before pushing it open. The talking stopped and he wondered if they'd been talking about him. Bobby slowly eased his way around the kitchen, having not quite memorized the layout yet. Tapping a cabinet door, he asked, "Cups are in this one?"

"The one next to it, on your left," John told him.

Bobby moved to the next cabinet and took down a coffee cup. He could've had John fix him a cup, or his visitor, but that wasn't him. Yesterday John helped him out a lot because he'd never been in his house before. Today, he was determined to do everything himself.

He heard John say, "What say we finish this over the phone?"

"Yeah, all right, John," the other man answered as a chair scrapped over the floor. "Give me a call later today. I'll be in my office."

"I'll see you out," John said as both men left the kitchen.

Bobby listened to them leave as he filled the cup with coffee, using the tip of his finger to determine when to stop pouring. The door opened again and he assumed it was John returning. "Hey, thanks for picking Atticus up for me. I was surprised."

"I knew you'd be," John told him with a laugh. "How was dinner?"

Smiling at the memory of last night, he said, "Great." As he sat down at the table, he asked, "Anything I need to know, John?" Silence filled the kitchen and all he could hear was Atticus's tail hitting the leg of the chair he was sitting in.

There was a click of silverware on a dish as John cleaned up the table before answering, "No, nothing."

He knew John wasn't being entirely truthful with him, but decided not to push the issue. If it was important to him he figured John would tell him about it eventually.

"Alex called this morning. She said they were going to release your house. Word came back that it was ruled self-defense and they don't need it sealed off any longer."

"Yeah? That's good. I don't have to be in court today, or for the rest of this week come to think of it."

"That's because you've got a trial coming up. Next week, right?"

Bobby gave a nod as he took a sip of the coffee. Trial was a week away and he was still struggling with the whole case. Mike had been doing his best to investigate, to go deeper than the cops had done on the original investigation and find something that would ultimately prove guilt or innocence. So far they had nothing. That didn't stop Mike from continuing his investigation. In fact, he was following up on some accepts of the case today.

"I know you had dinner with my daughter last night."

The coffee got stuck in his throat and he nearly coughed it up. Covering his mouth, he managed to get it down as he tried to catch his breath. Once he recovered, he didn't know what to say. Was he supposed to tell John that it was nothing? That they were just friends and that was all there was to it? Did John really want him to lie?

"She told me."

Still at a loss of words, he fingered the coffee cup, sliding it around between his hands, and gave a nod because that was all he could manage. Finally, he said, "We're friends."

John was silent for a moment before saying, "She told me it was a date. And that you made a move-"

"I what!?" he squeaked out and went to protest when he heard laughter. John was laughing, and it was at his expense.

"Calm down, Bobby. I was joking."

Taking a breath, he shook his head and leaned back in the chair, feeling suddenly exhausted and ready to explode at the same time. "So, she didn't tell you."

"Oh, no, she did, but that you were a perfect gentleman and that you're just friends. I knew she was lying about the last part."

He didn't know how to take that. He knew Alex liked him, he just didn't know to what extent. "How'd you mean?"

John was quiet for a second before telling him, "Nothing, forget it. I don't want to talk about this."

"You started it," he shot back.

"She's my daughter."

Bobby quickly let it drop; especially after hearing how upset John was getting. After taking another drink of coffee, he said, "Logan's working on some things for the trial today, so I'm going to need your help this afternoon. I can imagine that my bedroom is a mess. The whole place actually. Bloodstains in my wood floor…fingerprint powder over everything. I need to get my door replaced, and bed. Get some new bedding…patch up holes in my wall."

"Don't worry about it, Bobby. We'll get it all taken care of. And the department has contractors they pay to clean up crime scenes. It might take a couple more days before you can go back."

"You mean I'm no longer on house arrest," he teased as he finished the coffee.

"No. I would like for you to stay until they catch whoever put out the hit, but I know you. As soon as you can you'll be back home."

"I _know _my home," he stressed. He didn't want to admit how uncomfortable and stressed he was being in John's house, with having to learn a whole new layout and having to ask for help about every other minute. It was frustrating and all he wanted was to get back to the safe and security of his own home.

"And we'll get you back there as quickly as possible, but only as long as it's safe," John shot back. "The last thing anyone once is for you to return home and get attacked again."

Bobby knew John was right. He would be vulnerable once he returned to his house. That was why he was also certain that once he did go back that the cops were probably going to put a detail on him, or make someone stay with him for protection. The last thing he wanted or needed was a damn bodyguard.

"I was thinking that since Atticus has been caged in for days, he would enjoy some fresh air. What'd ya say?"

He finished his coffee and stood to put the empty cup in the sink. "I'll go change."

A few hours later, after they had breakfast at Tony's in Hell's Kitchen, they were taking a walk through Central Park and since John was with him, he took Atticus off his leash so he could run around freely for a while.

John started laughing as he told him, "He's rolling around in the grass trying to get the cone off his head."

Bobby chuckled as he felt and heard his cell phone start to go off. Digging it out of his pocket, he flipped it open and answered, "Goren."

"Why is your investigator snooping around my house?"

Bobby stilled as he recognized the voice. "Mr. McCullough, good morning," he sighed in annoyance. "Logan's just doing his job. I told him-"

"You told him to illegally search my home!"

"That's not-"

"We need to meet, Goren. Now," McCullough strictly told him.

Rubbing at his head in frustration, he said, "Where?"

"My home."

Before Bobby could say anything else, the line went dead.

"Work?" John asked.

He flipped his phone shut and nodded. "Yeah. I've got to meet with my client."

"What's the problem?" John asked again.

"My client is the problem," he told John before calling Atticus over to him. Minutes later, they were on their way to his client's house on Long Island.

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Wow, so sorry to everyone for the extremely long delay in updating. Thanks for the reviews and for sticking with me with this AU.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Home of Dwight McCullough_

_South Hampton, Long Island_

Bobby was lead to a room at the back of the four story colonel house that was a mile away from the Atlantic Ocean. While en-route to the house, he'd called Logan and found out that he was being held outside and denied entrance by McCullough's bodyguard. That pissed him off. When he had first agreed to be the tycoon's lawyer, he specifically told the man that he would need his absolute trust and for him to allow his investigator access to everything. McCullough had agreed, though reluctantly, but the man still said yes.

So the fact that he had to spend his entire afternoon going out to Long Island to talk to the man about letting Logan do his job really upset him. By the time he walked into the room and left alone with McCullough, he let loose.

"Just the man I've wanted to see," McCullough said from across the room.

Turning toward the voice, he yelled, "We had a deal!"

"I was in the middle of a business meeting," McCullough argued back.

"You agreed-"

"A business meeting!" McCullough yelled again, and cutting him off. "I had clients here and then he shows up snooping around!"

"I don't care," he snapped back in haste. He caught himself before his temper got the best of him. Taking a breath, he stressed, "We had a deal." He hated not being able to see anything, especially in a situation like this. He didn't know what McCullough was doing, but Atticus was on high alert; he felt the tension on the leash from his dog getting in front of him. Atticus was willing and ready to protect him at any cost. "Reschedule the meeting, but Logan isn't leaving and neither am I. Not until this gets taken care of."

"But this is my house. There's nothing-"

"Your wife lived here. Your brother-in-law was staying in your guest house. This was where they were when they were killed and taken," he pointed out.

McCullough was silent for a very long moment; he could hear the rapid breathing close. He figured the man wasn't more than a few feet from him. Then, he said, "My wife wasn't living here at the time."

Bobby felt his head start to hurt as he said, "Excuse me?"

"I said she wasn't living here. Not in this house, at least. It was why her brother…" he trailed off before letting out a breath, "She was living in the guest house."

"With her brother? Why?"

McCullough was quiet again before saying, "She was leaving me. Her moving into the guest house, it was all a pretense. She didn't want the media to catch wind of it. We both agreed to let them think everything was okay."

"But they weren't," Bobby said, finishing the unspoken truth. It didn't take him long to understand where this was going. He sighed heavily then said, "She was afraid to stay here, to be alone with you…She didn't feel safe."

"No, she didn't," McCullough said with a stern, yet disappointed, voice. This was very hard for the man to admit.

Bobby rubbed at his head as he thought this all over. He couldn't believe this was happening, and now. "Where's a chair?"

"I'll…It's there, to your right. Let me-"

"I got it," he said in defeat as he pulled at the leash as he started to his right. "Atticus, find the chair." His dog went right over to it and he sat down. Leaning back in the chair, he thought over the police report and everything that was in it from the initial interview with McCullough. "You told the police that you had no idea why your wife kept some of her things, clothes included, in the guest house, you know, other than the fact that she would go out there sometimes to be alone."

"Yes, I said that," McCullough said as a chair creaked. He must have sat down too.

"You lied."

"I couldn't tell them the truth," he stressed. "The divorce wasn't finalized and I was hoping that we could've worked things out."

"It's motive," Bobby said as he sat forward, leaning on his knees. "Motive," he stressed again, "that I could've known about for the past three months instead of a week away from pre-trial. All this time I've been building my case on the fact that you had_ no motive_!"

"You're the only one who knows."

When McCullough told him that, he wanted to laugh. So he did. It was a pitiful laugh as he sat back and rubbed his head. It was a laugh of a man who knew he was going to lose his case. "You-" he sighed and shook his head, "you really are either that…arrogant, or you're so naïve. You don't think the detectives didn't know that you were lying to them and that your wife was leaving you? That's probably why they didn't look at anyone else for her murder. They probably found out she had a divorce lawyer; one that I would've found if I had known to be looking for a divorce lawyer," he snapped out that last part as he got up to pace around the floor. The leash was forgotten on the chair. Stopping his pacing, he said, "You're going to allow Logan to search this house and the guest house and anywhere else, understood?"

"The cops already searched-"

"Yes, they did, but they were only focusing on you. They weren't trying to find evidence of someone else." Even though he'd said it, he didn't believe that there was anyone else. Bobby still believed and thought that the man who'd hired him to defend him was guilty as sin. "Is there anything else I need to know? You know that whatever you tell me, its attorney-client privilege."

McCullough had grown quiet again. Then, he smelt smoke, cigar smoke, and he turned toward it, realizing he'd been turned almost all the way around from McCullough.

It didn't take him long to know that there was something else, and he had a pretty good idea what that could be. "There's someone else, isn't there? The only question is: you, her, or both?" The cigar smoke was making his head hurt and his nerves twitch from a long ago forgotten craving. It'd been years, fourteen to be exact, since he'd given up the habit of smoking.

"Want one?"

"One what?"

"A cigar," McCullough said. "You have that look. You used to smoke?"

Bobby rubbed at the back of his neck as he sighed in annoyance. "Answer my question."

After another long pause, McCullough told him, "We were together twenty-two years. Twenty-two years, and she was the only woman I've shared my bed with."

Bobby knew to wait it out; McCullough needed to get that out in the open before he could tell him the rest. But by now, he already knew what that was.

"She said she didn't love me anymore. That she met someone."

"What's his name?"

"I don't-"

"You know," he said, cutting McCullough off.

"Hugh…Hugh Crawford. British guy." McCullough then said after a moment, "Now, it does look bad for me. My wife was having an affair, wanting a divorce, and she turns up dead. This is why I didn't want to mention it."

Bobby gave a nod; he was right. It did look very bad. "Yeah, but…it also gives us another suspect. Someone else who could've committed the murder."

McCullough started laughing. "Yeah, right, and now you're telling me that you believe that I didn't do it."

"It doesn't matter what I believe. It matters what I can prove," he told him as he searched out the chair. He fingered the back of it and leaned over it to grab Atticus' leash. As he was heading out, he stopped and asked, "Who're you meeting with?"

"Producers from out west, Los Angeles; I'm working on a contract for a film."

"Oh, yeah? When will that start, if you get it?"

"If I get it," McCullough said, repeating what he'd just said, "I'll start pre-production in the spring." He was quiet before telling him, "It's your job to ensure that I'm still a free man in the spring, Mr. Goren."

Bobby stopped his hand on the door before giving a nod. It struck him before he left that McCullough didn't once bring up the shooting incident. Either McCullough didn't care, or, he didn't have any questions about it because he already knew the answers. "If you have a mistress…I will find her," he warned.

"I don't," McCullough told him. "Believe me, if I did you would know about her. She could've provided me with a decent alibi, wouldn't you think?"

McCullough had him there. Bobby left the room and found his way out with only the help of his dog; he figured the bodyguard was still keeping Logan from doing his job. Once outside on the porch, he gestured for Mike to come over to him. He felt the man get close, smelt his aftershave, and he told him, "Go ahead with the search. And then find out everything you can on a Hugh Crawford. He's British, and the wife's secret lover."

Logan hummed and said, "I'll look into it, but if his name's not mentioned in the Prosecution's discovery, then they don't know about him either."

"Which is either a lie, or if we're lucky, we can talk to Hugh first before we have to let the prosecution know anything about him. Find him fast, Mike," Bobby told him before telling Atticus to go to the car.

"Are you all right?" Logan called out to him. "You're looking kind of pale."

"Just do your job, Mike. And find me something," Bobby yelled back as John took Atticus's leash from him. He opened the passenger door to the car and got in.

John got into the driver's seat and started out of the long winding driveway. "You know, I had a case once. A husband comes home one night to find his wife in bed with another man. There was an argument, husband and the lover got into a fight-"

"John," Bobby nearly snapped, cutting him off. Letting out a breath, he tried to regain some of his patience. "Sorry."

There was silence in the car and Bobby rubbed at his head and eyes. He was thinking about everything McCullough had told him. The lies he'd kept from him and what it all could mean. He wasn't a cop; it wasn't his job to think of the case and try to solve it, but he'd been taught how to. He'd been with CID in the Army, he'd been a trained profiler and police officer. It was hard to remain objective, hard to just see the law side of the case and not the crime, the why and how.

"Ten minutes after the initial call to 9-1-1 by a neighbor," John continued with his story after a moment. "I arrive on scene, see the mess the fight had caused. The wife was on the couch, crying and scared out of her mind. The lover, he's dead in the bedroom from stab wounds and the husband is nowhere to be found. For four hours we're trying to track down the husband, get his side of the story, all the while thinking he's the killer. The next day, he walks into our precinct and says he wants to give a statement. We're thinking he's going to confess so you can imagine our shock when he says that the wife killed the lover."

Bobby shifted in his seat and asked, "Did she?"

"Yep. Turns out that during the fight between her husband and lover, she grabbed a knife and went after the lover for going after her husband; she stabbed the guy five times. It was obvious that it wasn't in self-defense-"

"Heat of passion, and she was protecting her husband. Defense of others is a reasonable justification for deadly force," Bobby said.

"That's exactly what her lawyer said. But that didn't explain the five stab wounds, one in the back, four in the front after he turned around. It also didn't explain the reason why the husband returned home early."

Bobby thought about it for a moment, before saying, "She called him."

"Bingo."

"She set it up."

"When confronted with this, the wife said she wanted to get rid of them both. So, she set it up to where her husband came home to find them and she killed her lover, and hoped that her husband would've taken the fall for the murder. She didn't realize at the time that we could match her fingerprints to the murder weapon."

"Like they say, crime makes people stupid."

"Right, so, I ask you Bobby, what made your murderer stupid?"

Bobby leaned his head back on the seat and went over the case-file in his head. After a while, when several minutes passed, he shook his head. "I don't know."

"What does that tell you?"

Bobby sighed as he said, "Maybe my client is actually innocent."

"Do you believe that?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe-"

"Cut the lawyer talk, Bobby. What do you believe?" John asked firmly.

Wrestling with his thoughts as they continued to head back toward Brooklyn, he began to feel dredge creep into his gut. Innocent clients scared him the most because they had the most to lose. "Why did he choose me, John?"

"Because you're the best chance this guy's got."

"He could've gotten a whole law firm of lawyers. The most experienced with these types of cases. Lawyers who've been to bat against McCoy many times and who have won against him, but instead, he chose me. Yes, I've won every trial case per se, but I've never argued a Capital murder case before. I've never gone up against a prosecutor as experienced and-and driven, and good, as Jack McCoy."

"I've never known you to get scared away by the adversity of a situation. It's a bigger challenge but you've always strived with challenges."

Bobby didn't say anything else the rest of the drive as he lost himself in thought. He didn't know what to think any more about any of it: his client, the trial, the case. The moment McCullough told him the truth, and that he'd lied to him, everything changed. He had a week to figure out how he was going to deal with that change. And, all the while, someone was out there gunning for his life and he had no idea why.

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

"The department sent in cleaners this morning after it was released," John told him as they stood in the living room. "This isn't a good idea, Bobby."

He tensed his hand on his dog's leash as he listened to the noise around him and smelt the sharp sting of cleaners and disinfectants in his nose. "Once everything is cleaned up, I'm moving back in."

"Shouldn't you at least wait until they catch the guy responsible first?"

"I can't…work right at your place. You don't have the equipment I need, I don't know my way around; it's a distraction. Every time I get up to do anything, either you're there trying to help me or I'm focusing too much on where to move, how many steps…it's, inhibiting."

John was quiet for a moment before suggesting, "Then someone has to stay here with you."

"You're not moving in with me," he strictly told him. "Besides, once your wife returns home, she's going to need you."

Bobby knew that John's wife, Emily, was currently staying with her oldest daughter, Angie, on Staten Island. She had suffered a stroke many years ago and it was hard for her to be left alone. John had told him that she had little strength in her left arm and hand; that she had trouble doing many normal things, like cooking and changing clothes, bathing. She couldn't ever be left on her own for too long.

John moved away from him and Bobby was relieved by the space it provided. Even though he trusted John, he wasn't too comfortable with anyone being so physically close to him. Some would think that with being blind he would appreciate the closeness, to give him some form of security. In fact, it did the exact opposite for him. It gave him no time to react, and basically left him to the devices of the other person.

It was weird, and he never was like that before, but it was hard for him to admit that since losing his sight that he had stopped trusting people even more. There were so many ways someone could take advantage of him, or do him wrong, that it was terrifying. It was one of the reasons he liked living alone and hardly allowed anyone to stay over. There have been occasions where he did allow people to stay, but it wasn't often. No one ever _lived _there with him, but he had the occasional guest. He didn't trust others in his home, in this personal space, and there weren't too many people he trusted in his life. John, he trusted to a point, but he never liked the closeness. He never liked the way John would try to "father" him. It was actually annoying. If he needed help, he'd ask for it.

Sighing, he rubbed at his neck as he realized he was being a jerk. He was stressed, and angry, and his patience hadn't returned. And, he was in pain. Not knowing where his medication was, he swallowed an ounce of his pride as he asked into the open room, "John?"

"Yeah?" John said from across the room. He was in his dining area, probably sitting at the table.

"Do, uh…do you have my pills?" he weakly asked.

"The bottle's in the car; I'll get it."

He didn't hear John leave the room because the floor was carpeted. Bobby always wanted to get rid of the carpet for that very reason but it hurt his back whenever he lain on a wooden floor. Thinking John was gone, he let out a breath and easily walked around the rooms of his brownstone. The only thing he had to be mindful of were the people cleaning the place up. However, they were all mostly downstairs on the ground floor where his bedroom was located.

Going into the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and then sat down at the round table he used for when his buddies, and Mike, came over to play poker. He owned a deck of cards that he labeled in braille on the face side of the cards. He could rub his thumb over the tips and feel what cards he had. There were many ways he had learned to live his life as normal as possible. He labeled everything and had a system of doing just about everything he'd been able to do before. He could still cook too. It took longer, but he had some dishes that he was able to make without destroying it completely.

John returned with his prescription and scolded him for drinking while he took two of the pain pills. He ignored the scolding as he took a hefty drink of the beer to wash them down. It wouldn't have been the first time, and sometimes it wasn't beer but scotch. Bobby needed to calm himself down and relax before he went off on the people down in his bedroom and hallway cleaning up dried bloodstains and fingerprint powder.

"You have an extra room on the top floor?"

Bobby gave a nod as he took a sip of the beer.

"Someone's going to have to stay with you, Bobby. There's a hit out on your life, you can't just ignore that. They're going to put a detail on you too. You're going to have a patrol car outside your brownstone until this is over."

He didn't like the idea of that, but he knew it was for the best. Bobby, despite being as stubborn as he was, didn't want to be reckless and get himself killed. Giving a nod, he said, "Okay. Any word on who's going to be assigned to be my watch dog?"

"No, but I've got a pretty damn good guess."

"Who?" Bobby asked right before he heard someone enter into the kitchen.

"Me."

Bobby stilled with the bottle halfway up to his lips. Turning his head toward the woman who spoke, he said, "Alex?"

Her heels clicked over his tile floor as she walked over to the table. Stopping next to him, she said, "Word gets around that you're moving back in here as soon as possible."

Bobby pointed over to John as he slightly turned his head to him. "You made a call."

"I had to let someone know," John explained. "She's working your case."

"I talked to my captain; he agrees that someone should be assigned to protect you until this is over. I volunteered."

Bobby tensed at that. He didn't want to put Alex in any unnecessary danger, but he also didn't know how to feel about her staying there, in his house, with him. "Are you sure that you're the right person for the job?"

"You don't think I can protect you?" she asked in disbelief and near anger.

"No, that's not what I meant," he quickly reassured her as he sat his bottle down and let out a breath. "It's just that…I mean…" Bobby was uncomfortable saying it because John was right there, and Alex was his daughter. "Wouldn't there be a conflict of interest because we're…friends?" There was a sudden moment of silence before he heard someone leave, and it wasn't Alex. There were no heel clicks. John had left the kitchen, leaving him and Alex alone.

"I'm a cop, Bobby, and a professional. Yes, we're friends, but I'm probably the only one in the department you trust, and the only one who'll trust you. You don't have many friends, and you've made a lot of enemies in the NYPD. We don't know who's behind this, so we don't know if anyone can be bought to hang you out to dry."

"You think there's a mole in the police department?"

"I don't know what to think, but I'm not taking any chances and neither are the brass who gave me the go ahead. If you're moving back in here, then you're going to need someone to ensure you stay safe and alive. And quite frankly, you can't do that yourself."

Bobby was quiet for a long moment as he listened to her and then thought about what she said. Alex was right; he didn't trust anyone else to protect him but her. He would be afraid of anyone else. Like he had been thinking earlier, he didn't trust anyone in his home. However, he knew he could trust Alex. It was probably because he was infatuated by her, and love in itself was blinding. "You can stay in the guest room. It's on the top floor. I'll uh, get you the spare key," he told her before finishing off the beer and getting up.

Going over to the counter closest to the entryway, he opened the top drawer and slowly fingered over the items in the drawer before finding the key. Handing it out, he felt her take it from his hand.

"Have you made arrangements for your door to be replaced?"

"Not yet, but I've got a new bed ready to be delivered. Once they leave, I'll give the place a call. I uh, I helped the owner of this furniture store out once. He owes me."

"Helped him out?"

"Worked his brother's case pro bono three years ago," he explained before grabbing another beer out of the fridge and heading back over to the table. "I've got nothing planned for today except going over my case and getting my bed replaced. Uh," he sat down as he rubbed at his aching head. "All my other cases are in limbo right now, some are awaiting trial, most are settled already. I'm putting all my time and focus now into the McCullough trial. Pre-trial starts next week."

"Jury selection is always fun," she teased. "Then trial starts when?"

"The week after that, hopefully."

Alex sat down across from him and asked, "Could the person who's trying to kill you be connected to the McCullough case?"

"That's for you to find out, isn't it?" Bobby asked as he twisted the cap off the bottle and tossed it on the table.

"Yes, it is. Have you discovered anything in your investigation that maybe someone doesn't want you to know?"

Bobby worked his jaw as he rolled the bottle between his hands. "I don't know what I discovered, detective. I have the same information as the prosecution."

"But you're representing the defendant."

He took a sip as he gave a nod. "You think that someone's afraid that I'm going to get McCullough off? Or that he told me something?"

"Did he?"

He debated over telling her anything as he rubbed his head then neck. Bobby realized he had no choice, and so he told her, "Hugh Crawford."

Alex was quiet for a moment before saying, "What'd you know about him?"

The way she asked that made Bobby think the name wasn't new to her. That interested him more. Was his name on her 'person of interest' list? "He was the lover of the wife."

Again she was quiet before getting up, telling him, "Excuse me; I've got to make a call."

"Who is he, Alex?" he asked before she got too far away from him.

"It's on-going; you know I can't tell you," she told him before he lost her in the dark world again.

Bobby sat at the table, working that over in his head, as he leaned back in the chair and finished off his second beer.

He stayed home for the rest of the day as his new bed and frame were delivered and the old one was taken away. He still had no door, but he was fine with that. Doors meant nothing to him anyway, except for the ones keeping his house secure. At least, they had up until a few nights ago. Atticus was a great guard dog, but he thought that it would be best to get a security system. He called an old Army buddy of his, Roger Iverson, who now worked for a high-tech security company, and left a message when it went straight to voicemail.

Alex had been in charge of his house since getting there. She ordered a couple of uniforms around, telling them what she expected of the detail put on his house, and then she went through all his rooms one-by-one. Bobby knew she was just doing her job but it was a little unnerving that she was checking his home for things like hidden cameras and devices and weapons.

"It's procedure," she told him. "The last thing we need is to find out the semi-professional hitman hid a bomb or something somewhere. Or that while the house was taped off and abandoned, someone got in and put up cameras or mic's."

Bobby let her do her job as he did his. Going down the stairs to the ground floor, or what his realtor called the "garden floor", he went into his study and shut the French doors that separated it from the hallway. Atticus had followed him like always and he felt him walk by his leg on his way to the dog bed in the far corner.

There was a gas fireplace in the middle of the far wall; going over, he turned it on, lit it, and opened the flue. He went over to his desk and sat down, rubbing at his chin and jaw, feeling the stubble of not shaving in over a day, and leaned back.

Minutes later, his phone rang and he reached over and picked it up. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Bobby, why don't you have your cell on you?" Mike asked.

He had left his cell upstairs on the charger and didn't feel like going up to get it. "It's charging, what'd you find out?"

"We're going to have to wait in line to talk to Crawford. He's currently being taken in by the cops in connection to your shooting."

Bobby sighed as he felt the ache in his head get worse. He had feared that happening when he told Alex the name. "Keep me updated."

"Will do. I'm going to finish up what I've got from the guesthouse, work it by a couple of my guys first, and then I'll be over in the morning to go over it with you. How're you at home? Do they have someone there?"

"Alex's here. She's, my uh…bodyguard."

Mike started laughing a little at that and said, "Lucky dog you are. I'll see ya."

Bobby hung up the phone and rubbed at his eyes. He'd taken the sunglasses off the moment he got down to his study. They were lying on his desk somewhere, forgotten. Getting up, he walked over to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of scotch. He knew he wouldn't get any work done for the rest of the night. He was tired, and there was too much going on in his head that he need the time to sort it all out.

Denise was supposed to be over tomorrow even though he tried to convince her to stay home with her newborn son. She had insisted and he finally, and reluctantly, agreed. He wasn't able to fully concentrate on the work with everything else going on around him. He needed the help and she was his only associate, and his most trusted friend besides Mike and John. She was better at all the paperwork and filing stuff for him anyway. He could do it, but she was faster.

He relaxed in his recliner in front of the fireplace and propped his feet up after kicking his shoes off. It felt good to be back in his own home, in his sanctuary. He felt freer, more comfortable, and overall more at peace than he'd been over at John's house; while there he felt like he was an inconvenience and ultimately in the way.

With his dog in the room, the warmth of the fire and the scotch engulfing him completely, and the stress of the day finally easing, he closed his eyes and let out a deep breath as he felt his body give into the pain medication and alcohol.

He didn't know how long he was asleep, but something woke him. It was a light touch on his forehead. At first he thought it was a whiff of air from the A/C, but then he felt it again. A light touch over his temple and he nearly shivered as he realized it was from a finger or thumb. Someone was touching him…A woman; he could smell her perfume. Jerking away, he sucked in a breath as he blinked and asked softly, "Alex?"

"I didn't mean to wake you," she softly told him. "They're nice."

He swallowed the cotton in his mouth from the mixture of meds and alcohol that had dehydrated him before clearing his throat to ask, "What are?"

Alex was silent for a moment before rubbing her thumb over his temple again, saying, "You're eyes. It's the first time I've really seen them."

"They don't do me any good," he mumbled before dropping his feet and scooting up to the edge of the chair.

She was quiet and he no longer felt her touch on his face. Rubbing at his head and face, he got up and headed toward the kitchen.

The brownstone was made to house multiple families so he had two kitchens. One on the ground floor and one on the first floor; he mostly lived on the ground floor for many reasons. It held his study, his bedroom, and the door in the kitchen that led outside had a doggy door built into it. It was perfect. The first floor was for when he had people over or when he felt like actually listening to the television; he only had his radio in the bedroom for listening purposes.

The second floor was the office Denise used and a room for clients who waited to speak to her or for when he had a business meeting that required them to come to him. The top floor was a guest room; it was two rooms actually, a main living area and a bedroom for whoever stayed. When he bought the brownstone years ago, he thought he would be having his mother stay a few times a year. After a couple of disastrous visits he put an end to that.

Mike had stayed there before, Denise when they worked well in to the early morning hours and he didn't want her to drive home, and when he had dated a few girlfriends had stayed up there as well. Now, to have Alex practically living up there until this was over, well, he was horribly conflicted. He was glad, but at the same time scared. He didn't want to jeopardize the case, and her job, by not being able to control himself around her. Her touch had nearly done him in just moments ago; if he hadn't been so tired and waking up, and known it was her, he would've been more responsive to it.

Taking a glass out of the cabinet, he filled it with water from the tap and downed it before filling it again. He heard her walk in and asked, "What time's it?"

"A little after eleven. Where's the light switch at?" she asked.

Bobby sipped at the water as he shook his head. "I have no idea. Are there any lights in here?"

Alex chuckled as she said, "There're lights built into the ceiling. Ah, found it."

Bobby smiled as he heard the soft click of the switch in the quiet room. "How does it look?"

"Your kitchen? It's clean, tidy, and very nice. You have brick walls, cherry red cabinets. I like it."

"Would you like anything?" he asked. "Uh, I've got water, wine, scotch, coffee, and tea. Take your pick."

"Tea would be nice," Alex told him.

Bobby put his glass in the sink and then opened the cabinet to the left, at his knees, and pulled out a tea kettle. He filled it with water and walked over to the stove and put it on the front right burner and turned it on to boil. Reaching up, he opened a cabinet and asked, "What kind? I've got uh…Earl Grey, Darjeeling, and Lemon Ginger, no green tea, sorry."

"It's okay. Lemon Ginger is fine, with honey."

He searched the boxes for the right one and took it down. Taking out a bag he tossed it on the counter. Opening another cabinet, he took out the jar of honey.

"I've never met a man who liked tea before?"

Bobby smirked slightly as he said, "I wasn't really into drinking tea until I spent some time in Britain. Guess I got used to it. Earl Grey and Darjeeling are my favorites; the Lemon kind is just for when I've got a cold or feeling sick. I used to have Chamomile but I ran out. It uh, helped me to sleep."

"You have a hard time sleeping?"

"Most every night," Bobby said as he took out a bag of Darjeeling for himself. "This certainly isn't going to help." The kettle whistled and he took it off the burner and turned it off.

"I'll get the cups," Alex spoke next to him, causing him to tense slightly at her sudden presence next to him. Before, she had been across the room from him, near the table against the wall. He figured she had been sitting there.

He heard her take out two cups and put them on the coutner and then take out the tea bags. "Here's one," she said as she pushed a cup against his hand.

After pouring water into both cups, he handed the honey jar to Alex so she could add as much as she wanted. He took the jar of sugar and added a little, one teaspoon into his cup before walking over to the table and sat down.

Alex joined him after several seconds. They sat in silence for a few moments before she asked, "So, what'd you do when you're not working?"

Bobby leaned on his hand as he shrugged, saying, "I uh, read a lot."

"I noticed you have a ton of books. There're four bookcases in your study alone, and two more upstairs, and not all of them are in braille or books on tape."

"I owned a lot of books before I lost my sight, and I kept some of them. If they were uh, given to me by someone or…If they were my favorite, I kept them. I let others read them, and I've even given a few away to friends. I just, can't part with them, you never know when they're going to be needed."

"I guess that's true. What else, besides reading?"

Bobby sipped at the tea as he thought about it. "And besides going to baseball games?" he said with a light smile. "I do things, you know. I had to find things that I could do and enjoy. I can't really go to museums anymore, or paint galleries, movies are out of the question but I do find myself listening to a few on the TV. Some are entertaining, others…I'm completely lost because the dialogue sucks and there's more action than actual plot."

"That must be tough."

He gave a shrug, saying, "I got over it quickly. I never was much of a movie person anyway. What I do enjoy now is plays, operas."

"Really?"

He smiled at her obvious surprise and the shock he heard in her voice. "Yeah. With a play, it's mostly through the dialogue that the story's told. The movement, actions are minimal…The actors have to get the story across through their words, emotions. They can't rely on special effects. And operas are the same way, musicals without the dance numbers. I can't see the dance numbers so they're not enjoyable. Plus, operas let me practice my Italian. I just sit back and listen. I love it."

Alex was quiet for a moment as he took a bigger drink of the tea. It was starting to get warm and he hated lukewarm tea. "I like plays too, but I haven't been to one in a few years. Maybe we can go sometime."

Bobby sat still and smiled slightly at that. It sounded like she was making plans for another date. "I'd like that."

"I guess I should make the long trek upstairs. You have too many floors in this place."

Chuckling, he said, "Why'd you think I chose the bottom floor for my bedroom and study?" He downed the rest of his tea and got up. Going to the sink, he added the cup to the dishes that was slowly piling up. He rinsed the cup and glass out and put them in the dishwasher and then Alex did the same with her cup.

"Goodnight," she told him.

Her voice was so close to him, Bobby knew she was right in front of him at the counter. Reaching out, he gently felt for her in the dark. His hand rested on her bare arm; she was about a foot shorter than he was, but then again just about everyone, especially every woman he'd met, was shorter than him. Running his hand up her arm to her shoulder, he felt the strap and thought she was wearing a tank-top. His fingers skimmed over her neck as he asked, "You mind?"

Alex shook her head; he felt the movement against his hand.

"You should try talking more; it'll help me out a lot," he softly told her as his fingers trailed up her neck.

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, under her eye, over her nose, and all the while creating the picture of her in his head. He remembered what Mike had told him about her hair, eye color, and how beautiful she was. And she was beautiful, not just on the outside but on the inside as well. He'd really lost his appeal in physical attraction the moment he lost his ability to see. No longer relying on that sense to tell him visually who he found attracted, he focused on everything that really, truly made a person beautiful; their soul.

Alex had a great personality, her heart was always in the right place, and she was incredibly smart and sarcastic as hell. He really liked the fact that she made him smile and laugh more than just about anyone he'd ever met. Now that he touched her, felt her skin, and got a clearer picture in his head of how she looked, it just completed the picture for him. It made him that much more attracted to her. Running his hand through her hair, he rested his hand on the back of her head, leaned slightly down, and kissed her on her forehead. He smelt her hair, it smelt of honey, and then stepped back slightly as he dropped his hand, telling her, "Goodnight, Alex."

He didn't know if she left the room or not, but he turned around and headed to his bedroom. There was no door to shut, and the hallway entered right into the kitchen which meant Alex could be standing right there watching him and not know it, but he didn't think Alex was a voyeur so he didn't hesitate to pull his shirt off as he headed to the bathroom.

He prepared for bed and finally climbed in. Atticus was already in it and in his way. The dog wouldn't budge as he scooted him over. He heard a soft whine and huff as Atticus finally got the hint and got up to head to the foot of the bed where he plopped down.

Getting comfortable, Bobby didn't bother turning on the alarm since he knew he didn't have to be up early, and went to bed.

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Enjoy!

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

Alex couldn't sleep. It wasn't because the brownstone wasn't her apartment, though that was part of it, but she couldn't stop thinking about Bobby. When she had learned from her dad that Bobby was being stubborn and moving back into his brownstone so quickly after its release, she knew that he would be put under protective custody and had gone to Deakins herself to ask to be the one assigned to protect him. Deakins didn't know anything about them, he had no idea that they'd gone out on a date the night before, so he didn't see any conflict. He had agreed.

Now, she was questioning whether she made the right decision. She knew that she could remain professional throughout this ordeal, but she didn't know, or think, Bobby could. He'd kissed her. Granted, it was on her forehead before excusing himself to go to sleep, but still. She could still feel his fingers, hand, and thumb smoothing over her face, taking in her features. There were no sparks when he'd done it, she's never been that melodramatic, but she felt a connection with him. She figured it was caused by the gesture itself. Alex could tell he'd done it before with other people by how delicate he'd been and he knew exactly what he was doing.

Another reason why she couldn't sleep was because she had made the decision to stay with him to protect him and then had to go home to explain it. Alex knew she wasn't the best mother in the world, or at least she told herself that every time she had to go to work every day. She had to do many things for her job including stakeouts, undercover gigs, and there were times when she had to be away from home for days at a time. So, there really was no serious consideration or struggle within her to choose between her job and her son. She didn't know what kind of person that made her, other than dedicated to her work.

Lying in that big empty bed alone, she horribly missed her son curling up next to her in his sleep. He didn't do it every night, but sometimes when he had a bad dream or missed his father, he would sleep in her bed. Or when she'd been away for a few days due to work he would do it. She had called Liz hours ago before going to find Bobby downstairs and talked to him. He'd been sad, but she realized he was also getting used to it. Her sister was also getting used to it, but she never complained.

A year ago she'd given her sister the gift of a child since her Liz couldn't have kids of her own. Liz had been married to a man, but they had divorced months prior. So her sis and Nate had moved in with her. It was crowded, and they got into it a few times, but she was her family and she would do just about anything for her family. Even though her nephew was only eleven months old, her son adored Nathan like a little brother. Since she had carried Nate, her son Joey had been there to watch her grow. He would get his books at night and instead of her reading him to bed, Joey would read the baby to bed.

Once she'd given birth, and they finally got to meet, it was all over. Joey told her that Nate was his brother and that he was going to watch over him for the rest of his life. Almost a year later and that still remained true. They were practically inseparable.

The thoughts of her son brought her around to think of Bobby again. She didn't know how he was going to be once he found out she had a son. It wasn't like Joey was a baby or anything, the kid was eight and according to Joey, he wasn't a baby anymore; he was a big brother and so that made him a big kid, and was he acting like it. That boy had more determination and spunk than she thought was possible. And she loved him immensely for it.

She rolled back over in bed, feeling wide awake and miserable, and grabbed her phone. It was three-thirty in the morning; there was no point in trying to get some sleep. Sitting up in bed, Alex looked out the window that was next to the bed and stared down at the Brooklyn street. She took in all the other brownstones and row houses, and then at the unmarked unit sitting across the street. She wondered who was on watch tonight. Looking around the room, she saw the unlit fireplace, the bare mantle, bare white walls, the Oriental rug on the floor in front of the fireplace with was the only decoration in the room, and the open door to the bathroom.

Getting up, she headed to the bathroom and switched on the light. There was no tub, only a standup shower in the corner, toilet and sink. She took in her tired eyes in the mirror and groaned. She was exhausted and looked it. Turning on the shower, she felt the cold water and knew she had to wait for it to heat up in the old house with old pipes. She remembered the steps creaking as she walked up them earlier that night. There was a draft coming from somewhere, the windows were thin and she figured Bobby had to put plastic on them in the winter time to keep the cold air from coming through.

It was a beautiful house though, but too much maintenance. She was glad she lived in an apartment with a superintendent to do all the work when something broke or to yell at when there was no hot water. Alex took a quick shower once the water got warm and figured that was good enough. She didn't want to wait another five minutes for it get hot. Once done, she toweled off and dressed in a pair of track pants and loose fitting long sleeve shirt over a tank-top. It was cool and didn't feel like starting the fire.

The other room on the top floor was as bare as the bedroom. There was one empty bookshelf in the corner next to the other fireplace and that was it. Not a single stick of furniture, only a queen size bed in the other room and that was it. She figured Bobby didn't have many guests, but he also didn't care to furnish the entire brownstone. Alex, from the details she'd gathered through her investigation and over the course of talking to Bobby, knew that he didn't have much family. He only had a mother and brother. His father had died years ago.

From his obvious empty house, aside from the ground floor where he mostly lived, she got the impression he was mostly a loner, or at least liked to be alone. When she had searched his house earlier, she noticed a lot of things different about his house than most peoples. Bobby didn't have a single thing to look at, for one. Not a single picture on the wall or picture frames; there were no mirrors other than in the bathrooms. Another thing she had to do was search out all the light switches because not a single one was turned on; that was when she discovered that some light fixtures didn't even have working bulbs or no bulbs at all. She could only imagine how low of an electric bill that man had. There were no lamps, no flashlights or candles in case power was knocked out during a storm.

Most of the rooms were wide and open with only the least amount of furniture; she could tell there used to be a wall between the living room and dining room but it had been knocked down. There was nothing lying around like vases or decorations, and what she had thought was glass in the cabinets and the china cabinet in the dining room was actually plexi-glass. By the phone in the kitchen, there was no notepad or pens, instead she'd seen a tape recorder. There were also no magazines or a TV guide on the tables, just a couple of remotes and an ashtray. She wondered about the ashtray since she'd never seen Bobby smoke.

Then, in his study she had spotted another one on his desk and on the table where he kept his shot glasses and tumblers for when he got himself a drink, she'd seen a cigarette case. It had been half-full and he didn't touch it while she was there. Alex figured he either used to smoke, or still did occasionally. From the way the house smelt and how clean the ashtrays were, he didn't do it often. He also didn't have a regular dollar lighter, or even a zippo, but one of those old table lighters she'd seen her grandparents use. She figured when he did smoke, he did it in style.

Alex walked down to the first floor and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. There was a hard wind blowing outside and she could hear it rattle the windows as she walked into the kitchen. She could also feel the chill it put in the air. There were six fireplaces in the brownstone, and she thought that in the winter time each one was put to good use. He also had central air and heating, but with how old the building was, she didn't know how good it was. The air had been on earlier but she hadn't heard it kick on for a few hours now. The cool air outside was keeping the temperature inside low.

As the coffee brewed, Alex walked into the living room and laid on the couch as she turned on the television. Keeping the volume low, she flipped through the channels. With it being for in the morning, there wasn't much on worth watching. She left it on an old movie from the '30's as she got up to get her a cup of coffee.

She heard the noise behind her and turned to see Atticus sitting, staring at her. "Hey, Atticus."

The dog's tail wagged as he started for her. Coming up to her, he sat again as she petted him over his head and behind his ears. With the cone around the poor dog's head, it was a little difficult but she managed. Atticus followed her back into the living room and went over to retrieve a blue ball that was on the floor. Bringing it over to her, he sat it on her lap and waited.

Alex stared at the dog and laughed at his anticipation when she picked the ball up. She looked over toward the far wall that was between the dining room and kitchen and smirked. "That's why he took the wall down." Drawing back, she tossed the ball through the rooms and Atticus bolted in chase.

They played for a while as she sipped her coffee and tried to watch the movie. It was an old James Cagney movie; he was moving up in the ranks of the mob and trying to keep from getting killed by a rival gang and the coppers. The scene after Cagney grabbed a slice of grapefruit and rubbed it in Mae Clarke's face, she heard someone walk into the room. Looking over, she saw Bobby walk in, rubbing at his head and neck as he passed.

He didn't even say anything to her as he shuffled over the floor to the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with a cup of coffee in his hand. He stopped at the end of the couch and asked, "What're you watching?"

"The Public Enemy, with James Cagney."

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he said, "Great movie." He then sat down on the other end of the couch and leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

Alex wondered if he asked her that so he would know where she was located on the couch. She upped the volume so it was louder and they sat in silence as it got to the final shootout. As Cagney stumbled over to a rain soaked sidewalk, she heard Bobby say right along with him, "I ain't so tough," right before he collapsed into the gutter.

She chuckled as Bobby imitated collapsing on the couch as Atticus watched him. The dog, worried, leaped up onto the couch and pawed at his chest. Bobby suddenly grabbed Atticus, causing the dog to jump. They wrestled for a moment before letting him go. Atticus jumped to the floor but was panting and wagging his tail, anxious to continue playing.

"Find your ball," he told the dog as he picked up his empty coffee cup off the table. Atticus found the ball and brought it to him. Bobby threw it through the rooms, letting it bounce off the far wall and roll around the floor as Atticus chased it, before getting up.

"You should teach Atticus how to call the police," she said once he returned from refilling his cup.

"I already did," he said as he sat down next to her. "If I hadn't had moved after he pawed my chest like he did, he would've went to that phone," he said as he pointed toward a phone that was on the lowest shelf of a small table by the door, "and used it to call for help. Then he would've gone downstairs and out the doggy door to my neighbor's house. George knows what to do after that."

"George is your neighbor?"

"Yeah; he's eighty-three years old and a retired fireman and Marine veteran. I trust him to break down my door and save my life," he said with a small smirk.

"That's good to know, but what if George is asleep?"

Bobby turned his head to her and said, "He has a dog too; a German Shepard named Odyssey. Atticus uses his dog door to get in and out all the time. He and Odyssey are buddies."

At the mention of Odyssey's name, Atticus's ear perked up and he dropped the ball and headed toward the entryway that led to the stairs. "I think you caused Atticus to remember his buddy."

"No, Atticus," he told him dog. "It's too early in the morning."

She watched as the dog hesitated at the entryway, obviously wanting to go wake up his pal to play with, but refrained as he stepped away and whined. Alex was amused by the behavior. Atticus was an intelligent and well-trained dog, and had the personality of a teenager. "I think he's disappointed."

"Yeah, he hasn't been over there since Sunday. I bet they're missing each other."

Bobby kept his head resting on the back of the couch as he rubbed at it, resting his arm under it as he asked, "Why are you up?"

Alex shrugged and caught herself; Bobby couldn't see her. Sighing, she told him, "I couldn't sleep. I'm not used to being here. Your house is drafty, it makes noises, and I was missing being home."

Bobby muffled a yawn as he said, "Yeah. It's an old building, but I like the noise. It helps me to know when I'm awake." He said it in a near teasing way, but she knew that there was truth in that. "What are you missing at home?"

Alex barely caught that question as she was thinking. "What?"

He shifted on the couch, bringing his leg up as he fully turned toward her. "You said you're missing being home. I couldn't think of what you would be missing unless there was something, or someone there, that you miss."

She was quiet for a moment, debating if she should tell him. Then, she made up her mind. If they were going to have a future together, he had to know. "I miss my son."

If she was expecting some sort of drastic reaction from Bobby, there was none. He was a still and near stoic as ever. That in itself was a reaction and she didn't know what to think of his lack of response. She waited for him to say something.

Bobby breathed out and she realized he was holding a breath. He then softly asked, "What's his name?"

"Joseph Alexander Dutton; I call him Joey. He has my husband's first and last name."

"And his middle name was after you…I like it." Bobby was quiet for a moment before asking, "Joey is how old?"

"Eight; he'll be nine in December." Alex was relieved that he wasn't panicking, at least on the outside. She had no idea what he was thinking. "I should've told you before at the ballgame. You asked me about my family and all I mentioned was my husband who'd died."

"You're telling me now," he said. "That's all that matters. You probably get a lot of guys running away at the mention of being a single mother."

She huffed out a laugh. "Some, yeah."

"I remember John talking about his grandkid Joey, but he never said that he was yours. I thought both Joey and Nathan were uh…I guess your sister's kids?"

"Nate's hers, and Joey calls him his brother. They're close. I was a surrogate for my sister last year, and when I work she keeps him. That's probably why."

Bobby was quiet for a long moment, and then he said, "Late last year, right? I remember not seeing you for a while. John never mentioned anything about it. I thought you were working undercover or something."

Alex didn't know what to think of her dad not mentioning it to Bobby, but figured they didn't talk much about family while together. Her dad probably talked more with him about the law, his days as a cop, and cars than about what was going on with his family. Her dad was like that, and she didn't fault him for it. It was just the way the man was. She was actually more surprised that he mentioned having grandkids at all.

Bobby reached his hand out, palm up, and waited. Alex eyed his hand and then placed hers in his. He gave it a squeeze as he said, "I'm not going to run away."

"You don't have kids."

He gave a nod and said, "No, I don't, and the idea of actually fathering one and raising a kid is absolutely terrifying for me. But, your son isn't a baby; he's practically grown up," he teased and she almost hit him for that. "What I'm saying is, Alex, I don't care if you have a son. I bet he's a great guy. I'd love to meet him. We can't play catch, but I bet I could teach him a thing or two."

Alex found herself smiling as she told him, "I bet you could."

"And if anything, if we don't work out, I'm still your friend. I'll like to be his friend as well. I uh, I know what it's like growing up without a father."

Alex watched him as he said that. She knew he had a dad, and that William Goren didn't pass away until the late nineties, so that admission confused her. "You weren't close to your dad?" she asked and wondered if she stepped over a line from the way he tensed.

Bobby didn't say anything at first before clearing his throat. "He left when I was young; abandoned us. He wasn't around much after that, but even before he left, he wasn't around much."

"Sorry," she told him. He just shook it away.

The sun was finally creeping in through the windows at the front of the house. Alex noticed the time on the stereo system. It was a quarter after six, and she was ready to finally sleep. "I think I'm going to take a nap before the day actually gets going."

Bobby let go of her hand as he sat back. Stretching his legs out, he said, "I'll be up; I slept for a few hours. If you don't want to go all the way upstairs, you can either sleep here on the couch or in my bedroom."

Alex debated about that for a moment. She didn't want to sleep in the living room, but the thought of going back up the three flights of stairs was dreadful. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah; it's warmer down there anyway, more comfortable than that empty cold room upstairs."

Alex gave a nod and got up, saying, "Thanks. I guess if you need me, I'll be downstairs."

She left him alone on the couch as she went down the stairs to his bedroom. As she slid under his covers, she hummed at how right he was. It was warmer, the bed was more comfortable, and it had a smell that was purely Bobby's. It was a manly scent that reminded her of her late husband, and it helped her to drift off to a deep sleep.

* * *

Bobby didn't hear Alex again for several hours after she went down to his room to sleep. He sat on the couch for a while after and thought about what they'd talked about. He was surprised that she had a son and didn't tell him, but he had meant what he said, he didn't care. It wasn't like the boy was a baby, still needing an adult to do everything for him. Joey was a young boy, and he could handle that. He tried to figure out if he could handle it if Joey had been a baby. He never thought he would not date a woman solely for the fact if she had a child or not. Then he realized it wasn't due to that reason, but to his own fears. It was hard enough to take care of his own self and his dog, he couldn't imagine having to take care of a little baby.

He didn't get up until he felt the hunger from not eating gnaw at his stomach. Going to the kitchen, he got Atticus breakfast first before preparing his own. He got three eggs out and the loaf of bread. He had spent an incredible amount of time after losing his sight learning how to do everything all over again. One of those things was cooking.

There were things he couldn't make anymore, the complexity was too much, but there were simple things he could do, like eggs, toast, oatmeal and bacon. Omelets were tricky, and on occasion he would ruin a few in his attempt to cook one. It was always edible but he'd caught a burner on fire a few times before giving in and buying a plastic omelet maker that he could just throw in the microwave.

After the eggs were fried and toast buttered, he sat at the table and ate as he heard Atticus running around the house. He was wanting to go out. "Fine, Atticus, go out already," he called out.

He heard Atticus leave the room and knew he was heading downstairs to go outside. Then he heard multiple dog barks coming from the yard below and realized that Odyssey was outside as well. There used to be a fence separating the two backyards, but he had done away with that once he met George out back once when he was playing with Atticus in the yard.

They had quickly become friends along with their dogs, and they had easily decided to do away with the fence. It created a bigger yard for the dogs to play in and it made it easy for Atticus to go over there to get help if it was needed.

He cleared his plate and finished his last cup of coffee before heading downstairs himself. He didn't hear any noise coming from is bedroom and smiled. Alex was still asleep. He opened the backdoor and went out to the yard. There was a pathway that he'd had built from stone and brick leading over to George's back patio. He followed it easily without too much thought and heard a voice.

"Morning, Bobby," George said.

Bobby knew there were a porch swing and a table with chairs on the patio. George was sitting at the table. He reached out and felt the other chair; it was empty, sitting down, he smiled and said, "Morning. How're you?"

"Oh, I'm alive and well. I heard what happened the other night on the news. I'm glad you're not dead."

He nodded and said, "Me too."

"What the hell happened to Atticus?"

"He got shot protecting me."

George was quiet for a moment then said, "You got yourself a very brave dog there, Bobby."

"I know it. You didn't hear anything?" he asked in surprise.

"No, I was gone Monday night. Went to stay with Marie; it was her birthday."

Marie was George's wife of fifty-five years. She had fallen ill months ago and was now in a hospice. They gave her less than a year and whenever he could George stayed with her. It was hard since he had his dog to care for, so he would be home some nights, others he would be gone. "If you want to stay longer, I can always look after Odyssey for you. Give you a few days instead of hours."

George was quiet for a moment and then said, "Thanks, Bobby. Next time I go, I'll do just that."

He smiled and nodded. They sat for a while and talked, not about work, family or the shooting, but about their time in the military, cars they've driven or wished they'd driven, and about life in general. George was telling him how he wanted to put up a greenhouse, where it would be and if that was okay with him, when he heard the door open to his house.

George stopped talking and then said, "Wow, she's pretty."

Bobby blushed slightly as he said, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You didn't tell me you were dating anyone."

"It's, uh, early in the relationship. She's a cop; detective with Major Case."

"Oh, she's one of those."

George was such an old fashioned and minded guy that Bobby had a pretty good guess what he meant by that, and he found it amusing as he chuckled. Leaning back in the chair as he heard Alex get closer, he asked, "How'd you sleep?"

"Great; thanks," she said as she introduced herself to George. "I'm Alex."

"Alex is no name for a beautiful lady," George said and Bobby couldn't help but laugh.

He felt her hit him on the arm and laughed even more. "He's got a point," he said even though he liked her nickname. Short, simple, and it was her. Alex liked guns, cars, and baseball. The name fit.

"I like my name. And it's short for Alexandra."

"Then I'll call you Alexandra," George told her. "I'm George, pleasure to meet you."

After a couple of minutes finishing up their talk about putting up a greenhouse in the yard, Bobby followed Alex back into the house. Atticus stayed outside for hours playing and he was perfectly fine with it. He put a bowl of water out there so Atticus wouldn't have to keep running in and out.

They headed up to the first floor and Bobby told Alex he would cook her breakfast and from the silence that followed, he figured she didn't believe he could do it. "I made fried eggs and toast earlier. So, what'd you want?" he asked as he headed to the kitchen.

"You cook?"

He smiled as he said, "You know, being blind doesn't mean I'm useless. Yes, I cook. I even clean. It's not that hard, well, not anymore."

"I didn't mean it that way. I'm just impressed. I'll have the same."

He nodded as he used the same pan and got started. It didn't take long before he was dishing the eggs onto a plate with a slice of toast. Putting it on the table, he said, "Voila," like it was some sort of magic trick.

Alex laughed and then told him, "This is very good, thank you."

"You're welcome." He went to the fridge and got a bottle of juice and opened it. He didn't know what kind it was until he took a sip. It was orange juice so he chugged the whole bottle before tossing the bottle in the recycling bin under the sink. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take a shower and actually shave."

He left the kitchen and headed for the stairs. An hour later, he returned and heard Alex on the phone in the kitchen so he went back down to his study. He didn't want to eavesdrop. Picking up his house phone, he sat down at this desk and made a call to Mike.

After several rings, he answered, "Logan."

"Mike, what's going on?"

"Bobby, I'm actually on my way over there now. I'm about ten minutes out."

"Okay, I'll see you soon," he told him before hanging up. Tapping his fingers on the desk top, he leaned back and wondered if Alex was off the phone yet; probably not. He was wide awake, bored, and relentless. But, he was also unsure of what to do. Having someone else in his house put him off a little and he wasn't sure if he should stay down in his study or go up there…Did Alex want his company? Rubbing at his face, he got up and headed back upstairs.

He got to the top of the steps and went to the front door and unlocked it for when Mike arrived. Alex was in the kitchen still but he no longer heard her talking to anyone. Walking in, he took a bottle of water out of the fridge and said, "Mike's on his way over."

"Barek is too; is that okay?"

"Fine by me." Bobby twisted the cap off as he turned toward her voice. "You do know that Mike likes her, right?"

"Really?" she asked surprised. "I had no idea."

He chuckled and said, "Now you know. Just, beware if he starts acting weird around her."

"Thanks for the warning."

Bobby walked over to the counter and leaned on it. He knew from her voice that she was sitting at the table on the other side of the counter. "When Mike gets here, we're going to be in my study. Um, are you going to need me up here at all?"

"No. Barek just wants to go over the case and what we've learned since yesterday."

He nodded and said, "I know you had Hugh Crawford brought in. Mike saw him being picked up."

Alex didn't say anything; he wondered what she was thinking and it was so frustrating not being able to see her. "She talked to him," was all she said after a moment.

"You know, I'm going to find out what he told Barek when I talk to him about my case, Alex. He could know something about the day McCullough's wife and brother-in-law was murdered. If I learn of a crime, or if information, evidence, is found that could cast suspicion onto Crawford, I'll be obligated to tell the detective who investigated it. They're with Major Case too, right? Jefferies and Matthews?"

"You think McCullough's innocent?"

Bobby thought about what John had said once again. What did he believe? "Yes, I do."

Alex was quiet, and he knew what she was probably thinking. That he was an idiot and that if her colleagues said McCullough did it, then he did it. "I'm not obligated to return the courtesy, Bobby."

He wasn't expecting that response because he wasn't expecting her to return the courtesy. He didn't tell her that so she would feel like she had to. "I know you're not and I'm not expecting you to. I was only letting you know what was going on my side of this. I know you think Crawford had something to do with the shooting. I was-" he was cut off as he heard the front door open then close.

"Hey, Bobby! I'm here!" Logan called out. "And I ran into someone outside."

"I'm in the kitchen!" he yelled back before softly telling Alex, "I would never ask you to jeopardize your integrity as an officer of the law for me. No matter how serious we get. Okay?"

"Okay," she said after a moment's hesitation.

Logan walked in and said, "Whoa, what's going on in here? Even though Bobby can't see, it's like I'm witnessing a staring contest."

He turned toward Logan as he straightened off the counter and took a sip of the water. "We were just talking."

"About?"

"How Barek is on her way over," he said.

Logan didn't say anything for long moment. Then, he said, "She's who I ran into outside."

"Morning, Bobby," Barek said.

He smirked as he said, "I thought I heard a sigh of contempt. Good morning to you too."

"I don't hate you, Goren."

"Yes you do," he said right back as he walked toward the entryway and hoped she moved out of his way because he couldn't move out of hers.

"We'll be downstairs," Logan said as he as he followed after him.

When they got to his study, with his doors closed, Logan said, "You should cut her a break."

"I'm not the one interested in her, why don't you hurry up and date her. You might be able to remove that stick from her ass," he shot back and waited for the comeback.

"Has Alex removed the one from yours?" Logan snapped in anger. "You were the one to say something to her first."

Bobby crossed his arms and worked his jaw. He had nothing to say to that because Mike was right. "What'd you got for me?"

"This would be a hell of a lot easier if your client waived his right to a speedy trial; we could have at least another year to get this settled before the trial was due to start."

"But he didn't. What'd you got, Mike?" he asked again. He didn't like being lead around in circles.

"What'd you know about her brother Edward?"

Bobby hesitated. He wasn't expecting that. "I know some things. He's from Miami, same with Tonya. That's where she met McCullough; in a club on Miami Beach. He uh…He moved up here three months before the night in question."

"And how do you know, besides the fact that McCullough told you who he was, that Edward was Tonya's brother?"

Bobby rubbed his jaw as he quickly realized where this was going. "What're you trying to say?" He knew Logan well enough to know he wouldn't be putting this seed of doubt in his mind without anything to back it up.

"We know now that they shared the guest house. There is DNA evidence from the both of them in the same bed. Of course, that can be ruled out because she did live there and McCullough admitted that she would stay out there sometimes. But, I did a check of next of kin for Tonya and he's not mentioned. I get Edward Atwood's birth certificate, and his father isn't mentioned, but they have different mothers. There's no proof that they're related."

He thought about that for a moment then said, "He could be her half-brother, or stepbrother."

"Then why isn't he in any of her records. She doesn't have medical proxy, and neither does he to her. She's also not mentioned in his next of kin either. I got the number to a sister that is mentioned in Atwood's next of kin, and gave her a call. I'm waiting to hear something back."

Bobby started to pace. This case was getting more and more complicated, making the trial more complicated. "How come you're finding this out now? Why don't the police know?"

"Why would they check? And if they did, they would've found out the same as I did, but assumed the same as you did. That he's either half or a stepbrother."

"What does the DNA say?"

Logan let out a breath and said, "What they have now in DNA is compromised."

Bobby dropped his arms and stopped pacing. He thought about that and realized it was too late to get from the bodies, they had both been cremated. "If the DNA taken from the scene is compromised, then I can't use it in court anyway."

"Exactly, but the thing is, it wasn't compromised at first. It didn't get compromised until it sat in evidence lockup for three months. Even if we use what they have to check for relation, it'll be inconclusive."

"You're fucking kidding me," he sighed as he rubbed his head.

Bobby didn't like any of this; his entire case was being fucked with and it was only getting worse. He had motive now for his client, but he also had two possible suspects to create reasonable doubt. There was the good along with the bad.

Going over to the table, he opened the cabinet above it and took down a bottle of scotch. Feeling the lightness of it, he opened it and drained the last of it right out of the bottle before getting down another bottle. It felt heavier. "Want a glass?"

"It's ten in the morning."

Bobby picked up a tumbler glass and poured, ignoring Logan's observation of the time. He put the bottle down and took a sip. Sitting down in the recliner, he asked, "Anything else?"

"I'm working this, Bobby. Don't worry about it; if anything, this will all end up proving your client's innocence."

"Or prove his guilt if he knew Edward Atwood wasn't his wife's brother. And if he wasn't, who was he?" Bobby asked as he leaned back in the chair. "Find that out, Mike."

"I'm already on it. I've got help with this. I know a lot of people, connections I had while on the force." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then Logan told him, "I'll call when I know more. Hang in there." The hand left and so did Logan as he heard the doors open then close.

Bobby rubbed at his head as he sipped his glass dry. He didn't get up until Denise arrived to go over his pre-trial preparations with him. He told her to go ahead up to the office as he refilled the glass and then got his prescription bottle. John had put it where he always kept it; on top of the refrigerator in his kitchen. He took one instead of two and then went up to the second floor.

He rounded the railing and headed to her office. She was already typing over the laptop. Leaning on the wall, he told her, "We've got developments."

"I don't like the way that sounds," she said as she stopped typing. "What developments?"

Bobby sat down in the chair across from her and leaned back, rubbing at his head as he told her everything he'd found out since yesterday. After he was done, Denise sat quiet for a long time.

She got up and moved around him. He heard her messing around in the small cabinet that was in the room. They had installed that along with a counter that held a coffee pot. He smelt coffee brewing as she walked back to the desk. He felt the warmth of the sun coming in from the window and took a sip of the drink.

"Okay, so best case scenario is we've got reasonable doubt. Worst case, your client is guilty and killed them both because he found out something about the brother not being her brother. Am I tracking this right?"

Bobby gave a nod. "Logan's looking into it and he's also going to talk to Crawford."

"And you're worried that someone who knew Atwood, or if his Crawford guy, is the one trying to kill you?"

He nodded as he took another drink. "I'm thinking more and more that whoever's trying to kill me is connected to this case."

"Have you told Detective Eames?"

"Of course I told her, at least about the Crawford connection. She's downstairs discussing it with her partner now. I haven't told her about Atwood yet."

"Then you've got to trust them to make the connections and to do their job. Whoever's behind this, they'll get him, Bobby."

He smiled at her confidence as he finished off his second drink.

"Are you okay?" she softly asked in concern.

Bobby always did find her concern for him heart-whelming. It let him known someone cared. "I'm okay."

"You look in pain. Have you taken your—"

"Yes, mom," he teased. "I took my pills." He got up and started to leave her to her work. She hardly needed his help anyway. "I'll be downstairs."

"Get some sleep!" she called after him. "I know you hardly got any last night with Detective Eames here."

Bobby heard the teasing in her tone and smirked. But, she was right. He barely slept knowing Alex was only a couple of floors above him, alone in bed. He made it to the first floor landing before he felt nauseous. The glass slipped from his hand, crashing to the floor as he felt his body fall forward.

* * *

Alex heard glass breaking and jumped up and headed into the living room then into the hallway. Bobby was unconscious on the floor with glass shattered around him. She felt her heart leap into her throat as she got down next to him and checked for a pulse. "He's not breathing," she told Barek as she pushed him over with Barek's help.

They got him on his back and she started chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth as Barek called it in. "This is Detective Barek, badge number 6141. I need an ambulance at Robert Goren's house; we've got a detail stationed at his residence already."

Alex heard the sudden blare of sirens and then a bang on the door as the cops who'd been outside rushed to get in. Barek got up to unlock the door when Alex heard Denise coming down the steps.

"Bobby? Bobby?! Oh my God, what happened? Is he okay? Bobby?!" Denise frantically yelled out.

Alex continued compressions as Barek kept checking for a pulse.

It was going on at least two minutes when Barek said, "I got a pulse! It's low but his heart is beating again."

"But not his lungs; he's still not breathing on his own," one of the uniforms said. "Keep giving him mouth-to-mouth, the bus is almost here."

Alex could hear the swirling blare of sirens getting closer.

"What happened?" an EMT asked who suddenly appeared by her side. Alex hadn't even noticed their arrival.

"He collapsed," was all she could get out because it was all she knew.

"He could've been poisoned," Barek said as she motioned to the broken glass on the floor.

Denise covered her mouth as she said, "He was drinking a glass of scotch right before he came downstairs."

Alex moved out of the way as the EMT's got him on a stretcher, continued giving him air, and wheeled him out of the house to the awaiting ambulance. She went to go with them when she spotted his neighbor George standing on the stoop to his house. "Can you keep Atticus?"

George looked pale and shaken as he nodded. "Is he going to be okay?"

Alex wondered that herself as she got into the back of the ambulance. "I don't know," she called out as the doors closed.

On the way to the hospital, she called her dad and Logan, telling them what was going on. She knew Barek had the scene at Bobby brownstone handled. Of all the things she thought about to check for yesterday, poisoning wasn't one of them. She should've made sure he threw out everything that had been opened or if tampering was suspected.

She watched as the EMT had to cut an incision in his throat to administer a tube down it after it had collapsed from whatever drug was coursing through his body. Alex sat there, holding his hand, and prayed that he didn't die from her screw up.

It seemed like it took forever to get to the hospital. Bobby still wasn't breathing on his own as she had to let go of his hand as the EMT's rushed him into the ER.

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews! Even though I may not respond, believe me, I'm taking everything into consideration. Also, I caught some mistakes with my last chapters and tried to correct them all, though I know I probably missed some. I've been writing some of these chapters on my iPad and auto-correct isn't correct at all, it messes everything up. I think I've caught all the ones for this chapter, but then again I thought that the last few chapters as well.

All right, we're getting into part of the investigation with this chapter. I have a dislike of hospital scenes so I tend to write as few as possible, so I substituted it for the case side of things.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Brooklyn Methodist Hospital_

_Park Slope, Brooklyn_

"Methyl alcohol," the doctor said as she sat across from her in the waiting room. "More specifically, methanol poisoning. It's common; methanol is used in a lot of household products from furniture varnish to windshield wiper fluid, antifreeze, and paint remover and thinner."

"Is he going to be okay?" Logan asked as he looked over at her and then back at the doctor.

Alex was already pulling out her phone so she could call Barek and Captain Deakins with an update.

"He should be, yes. We usually see this type of poisoning by people trying to commit suicide; this is the first for an attempted murder. We've given him medication to combat the poison. We're still in the process of cleaning out his stomach and he's still unable to breathe on his own. He'll more than likely be on a respirator for another 24 hours. We're also going to have to put him on dialysis. It's the only way to get the poison out of his blood and out of his body for good and as quickly as possible. This could still prove to be fatal if we don't." The doctor lifted up the top of the metallic clipboard and asked, "Any of you a Mr. Michael Logan?"

"That's me," Logan answered.

"You're medical proxy. I need your go ahead to do the dialysis."

Logan didn't hesitate to nod, saying, "Do whatever you gotta do to save his life, Doc."

She handed him the clipboard and told him to sign.

Alex watched all of this as she sent a text to Barek. She was going to call her captain once she could step away. It had been over three hours, nearly four, since she arrived at the hospital. "How did it react to him so soon?" she asked the doctor. "Doesn't methanol poisoning usually take hours to set in?"

"It depends on the amount ingested and chemical reactions in the body," she informed her. "He could've taken something or there could've been something mixed in with the methanol to increase the reaction time."

Alex nodded as she thought about that. Then, she thought maybe it wasn't an early reaction time at all. Maybe it did take twelve or more hours. That would widen their timeframe. Results from the contents of the scotch bottle had yet to come back. Until they knew for certain the source, she wasn't going to count anything out.

"It's ironic, actually," the doctor said as she took the clipboard and pen back from Logan. "One of the first signs of methanol poisoning is blindness. Mr. Goren wouldn't have known something was wrong until it was too late."

Logan looked over at her as she looked at him. They both didn't think it was ironic at all. "Someone's playing games," he said as the doctor walked away.

Alex nodded as she finally excused herself to call Deakins. She passed her dad who was sitting in a chair and patted him on the shoulder. He'd been extremely quiet since he'd arrived. She knew him well enough to know that he was worried out of his mind. "He's going to be fine, dad."

"I'll know that when he wakes up and starts demanding to leave," her dad said as he clutched at the cup of coffee in his hands.

She smiled as she left him alone. Going through the halls, she walked out of the front doors and walked around the sidewalk as she pressed the phone to her ear. She looked around the corner, took in the church across the street, bank on one corner, bookstore on the other along with a coffee shop. Seconds later Deakins answered. "Yes, Captain, it's Eames."

"Alex, how is he?"

"Hanging in there. The doctor confirmed it was methanol poisoning, most likely someone spiked his liquor cabinet. Any word from Barek about the results?""

"She just got a page from the lab now and went down to retrieve the results herself, but I'm sure it'll only confirm what you already know. I've got a team sweeping Goren's house now."

"I think it'll be best to get rid of everything; whoever's behind this isn't going to stop, and they're willing to do anything to make sure Goren dies before trial starts."

Deakins was quiet for a moment and asked, "You're sure that's the direction you want to take this investigation?"

"I've got no other direction to go, Captain. It's the only one that makes sense at this point. Until we know more, I'm assuming that it's someone associated with the McCullough case that's behind this."

"But if it was all because of them fearing Goren will get the guy off, or if he was told or learned something, why don't they just take out McCullough?"

Alex had been wondering that herself. She didn't know, but she knew it was personal. Or, maybe the person behind this hit wanted McCullough alive. She didn't think it was the tycoon himself, the man was relying on Bobby to set him free. "I don't know, Captain," she finally admitted. "But I will find out."

"You do that," Deakins snapped before hanging up.

She didn't take that last burst of anger personaly. She knew Deakins wasn't mad at her, but at the whole situation and not having any answers. Alex snapped her cell shut right before it went off again, this time it was from receiving at text. Flipping it open, she sighed and nodded as she read it.

It was confirmed; Methanol was found in the bottle of scotch taken from Bobby's study. Alex pocketed the phone and headed back inside to wait.

The dialysis was the most painfully slow process in the world. Alex watched from the window of ICU as Bobby was hooked up to the machine. She knew it would take anywhere from three to five hours before the treatment was done. There was nothing more she could do there and even though she felt herself wanting to stay, she couldn't. She had a job to do.

There were a couple of uniforms there to be placed at his door for protection in case someone tried to off him at the hospital. No one was allowed in unless they were given the go-ahead by her. She already gave them Logan, her dad, and Denise the all clear. Other than that, no one else was allow in unless they were police, and even then they had to present proper identification and have a reason for the visit. The only one exempt from that was herself.

Stepping away from the window, she saw Logan standing a couple of feet from her, head in hand and deeply worried. Stepping over to him, she asked, "Are you okay?"

Logan gave a nod as he dropped his hand. "I got on him about drinking so early, but with Bobby it's kind of hard to tell him anything."

"This isn't your fault. If anyone's to blame here, it's me."

Logan stared at her in confusion and shook his head. "You didn't do anything."

"I should've checked for tampering or suspected poisoning. I should've had him throw out everything that was open."

"The MO didn't suggest poisoning, Eames," Logan told her. "The attempt on his life was-"

"There is no MO for attempts on life," she stressed back, clearly angry and feeling herself to blame. "MO's for trying to kill someone can change from one day to the next; you know that. One day it's an attempted shooting, the next his break lines are cut. But since Bobby doesn't drive, it's poisoning. The shooter got into his house, Logan. I suspected that another killer, or the person who'd hired the first hit, could've gotten in again. That's why I checked, but I didn't check everything. That was my fault. I was in charge of protecting him and clearing his house."

Logan shook his head but didn't say anything at first. He took a breath and said, "You're not to blame. No one is to blame except for the person who put the methanol in that bottle, or whatever else in his house."

"And when he gets out of here and goes back home, it'll be completely cleared. My captain already has a CSU team cleaning it out now."

Logan was quiet for a moment then said, "The guys who were there yesterday, cleaning the scene. Were they contracted cleaners?"

Alex stared up at Logan as she frowned in concern. "You think it was one of them?"

"They were down there for hours unattended," Logan said. "They had cleaning supplies and access to everything down there."

She was already taking out her phone to make the call. "Let me know if anything changes here."

"Good luck, detective," Logan told her as he headed over to the chairs where her dad was still waiting quietly and impatiently.

* * *

_New York Crime Scene Cleanup _

_122 Eighth Avenue, Manhattan_

"Our teams of technicians are professionally trained and they follow EPA and OSHA protocols to help return homes or businesses to normal safely and respectfully."

Alex let the Supervisor of the company make his spill before telling him, "This isn't about them not following protocol, Mr. Bartlett. This is about the possibility of one of them poisoning the person living there. Whether intentional or accidental, I'm going to need the names of everyone on the team who you sent to that address yesterday."

Tim Bartlett picked up the manifest form again and put on his glasses. He read it over and then got up to go over to his file cabinet. He thumbed through some files before pulling one out. Sitting back down at his desk, he went through the forms he had. He glanced up at her and said, "These are all experienced professionals we've had on our staff for over ten years, except," he said as he picked up a pen and piece of notepad paper, "one new guy. He came onboard two months ago. Gary Holder."

"I'm going to need all their names, Mr. Bartlett, including phone numbers and addresses where I can reach them."

Bartlett seemed displeased, but he took out an employee recall list and a bigger piece of paper to write down all the names.

"And I'm going to need a copy of that recall list," she told him.

He was getting red, clearly agitated by all her demands, but he got up and went to make a copy. Alex just smiled politely as he passed by her and waited.

Fifteen minutes later she left the building that housed one of the largest crime scene cleanup companies in the state. She got into her car and read the address for Gary Holder. He lived in Queens.

* * *

_Brooklyn Methodist Hospital_

Mike was getting impatient as he got up and grabbed John by the arm. "C'mon, we need fresh air."

John didn't even protest as he let him take him by the arm and lead him outside. He'd seen a coffee shop across the street earlier and that was where he headed. They got a table by the window and ordered two cups of regular coffee and something to eat, tuna on rye for John and a chicken salad on toast for himself.

Bobby was still unconscious and on his last round they said of the dialysis. The doctor told him maybe another hour and he'd be taken off the machine. Mike was fine with that; as long as Bobby woke up and had the poison out of his blood completely, that was all that mattered. He couldn't stop helping to think of what happened and how. If someone, one of the crime scene cleanup techs, had been the one to do it. And, if so, why? Were they paid off, threatened?

"It's not your job anymore."

He looked up from where he'd been staring at the table and stared at John. "What?"

"The job, working the case, it's not your job anymore."

Mike sighed and shook his head. "You can take the cop out of the job but not the job out of the cop."

John smiled and nodded. "Isn't that the truth? I've been doing the same, thinking this all over like a cop and wishing I could do something. I can't, Mike, but you can."

"No, I can't. Like you said, I'm not a cop—"

"You're his investigator. You have a P.I. license. After you eat your food, go out there and do what you can with it. I'm staying with Bobby, and so are the police officers stationed outside his hospital room."

Mike leaned back as a young girl placed his plate in front of him. John was right; he needed to get out there and do his part. He needed to find out what was going on. He needed to talk to Hugh Crawford and to find out who Edward Atwood was. He had yet to receive a return call from Atwood's other, if she was the other and not the only, sister.

He promptly ate his food, downed his coffee, and after seeing to it that John was back to the ICU waiting room, left the hospital.

* * *

_Home of Gary Holder_

_77 88__th__ Avenue, Apartment 2C_

_Jamaica, Queens_

Gary Holder had the third floor apartment of the second section of the four section complex. It was small with three rooms, the bedroom being in the back. Since it was late-afternoon, Alex didn't know if he would be home or not. He could be working or out. Since Barek was busy at Major Case, she called in for a patrol to back her up in case Holder decided to make a run for it.

So not to cause alarm, she asked to the patrol to park two blocks down from the building. One of the two man unit was Officer Martinez. He was with her at the door as the other officer waited outside on the sidewalk. She banged on the door and waited. Through the door she could hear sounds from a TV.

"Who is it?" a man called from inside.

"Mr. Holder, I'm Detective Eames with Major Case. I need to talk to you."

After a few seconds of only hearing the TV, she heard him call out, "One second."

Alex looked to the cop and he nodded as he backed up and to the side, she did the same as she pulled out her weapon. She tensed and jumped slightly as gunfire erupted from inside and blew out holes in the door. Once it stopped, Martinez was the first through the door as he broke his way through it.

She quickly followed, sweeping right to check behind the door before going to her left. Holder was on the balcony and he fired back into the apartment before taking a desperate jump over the side. Alex hurried out the door onto the balcony and saw Holder on the sidewalk, down on the ground with the other officer holding him gun point. From the way his left leg was twisted and the blood she saw staining the concrete, she knew the man shattered his leg from the fall.

"Why'd they always run?" Martinez asked as he holstered his weapon.

Alex shook her head because she didn't know either.

* * *

_Home of Hugh Crawford_

_144 __East 74__th__ Street, Apartment 164_

_Upper East Side, Manhattan_

Mike knocked on the door and looked around the empty hallway. It was a clean and very fancy apartment building a few blocks over from Central Park. It probably cost a million or more for the one bedroom apartment Crawford rented, but that was the way it was in the city. If you couldn't cough up a million for rent get out and get out fast. He was lucky to have gotten the apartment he had in the Lower East Side at the price he'd gotten it way back in the late '80's. It was rent controlled and so it never went up to the ridiculous price of half a million or more. It wasn't cheap either, but it was manageable on his salary.

He knocked again, this time louder and heard an angry yell, telling him to hang on. Mike pulled out his ID wallet and flipped it open when the door opened. Stepping to the side and putting his foot between the frame and door, he said, "Mr. Crawford, I'm Inspector Mike Logan."

Crawford took one look at his Private Investigators license and went to shut the door in his face. He stopped the door with his foot and leaned further into it as Crawford pushed it. "I have nothing to say to you."

"You don't even know who I am," Mike told him. "I work for Robert Goren."

Crawford stopped pushing the door and stared at him for a long moment, stunned. "Not again. Look, I told the police I don't know anything about the shooting."

"I'm not here about the shooting." It was partly the truth; he wanted to talk to the man for a whole lot more than just about the shooting. "I know you were Tonya McCullough's lover."

Crawford let out a breath and Mike hoped he didn't suddenly threaten to call the real police. After a few seconds, the man backed away and let him in.

"Thanks," Mike said as he passed by Crawford into the apartment.

He looked around, taking in what he could of the apartment. It was very nice with glass tables and bright art deco furniture. Vases with flowers and big paintings covering the walls from people like Pollock and Van Gogh. "Nice place you got here. What'd you do for a living?"

"I'm surprised you don't know," Crawford told him as he walked around him to the kitchen. "Water or tea?"

Mike frowned at the offer of tea and remembered the guy was from England. "Water's fine, thanks. What'd you do again?" he asked once more.

"I'm an art dealer."

"That explains it," he mumbled to himself as he stopped in front of a painting and studied it for a brief moment. He didn't get it; it looked like a two year old dipped a paint brush in every color paints imaginable and threw it at the canvass.

"You like that one?"

"No," he simply said as he turned to Crawford and took the offered bottle. The cap was still intact, unopened, and he felt a little better. If this Crawford was behind Bobby's poisoning, he couldn't be too careful. Unscrewing the cap, he took a sip as he continued to the sofa and sat down as Crawford sat in the chair across from it.

"Not an art man...Mr. Logan was it?"

Mike leaned back on the sofa and took out his notepad and pen, ignoring the question. "How come when you found out about Tonya's death, you didn't come forward?"

Crawford shrugged, saying, "I had no reason to. There's nothing I could offer the police, or you."

"I'll be the judge of what you can offer me, all right. And just knowing that she had a lover and wanted to leave her husband is a big deal. It gives McCullough motive."

"I thought you work for his lawyer. Isn't motive something you're trying not to have," Crawford said, making Mike smirk.

Mike wrote the date, time, and location on top of the sheet of paper before starting his questioning. He'd already compiled a list of questions, but knew more would come up during the questioning. "When did you and Tonya first meet?"

Crawford seemed frustrated and annoyed that he was asking him these questions at all, but he didn't hesitate to answer any of them. "We met two years ago at an opening for one of my clients. She loves art, and wanted me to help her become part of the world. She wanted do fundraisers and maybe even have her own gallery opening one day. It started with simple, purely professional business meetings, then it became lunches, dinners, and next thing we know we're falling in love."

"Was it after you two met that she started talking about leaving her husband?"

"Yes, but not at first. She didn't say anything about it until after we became intimate and it started to get serious."

"Did she mention anything about there being violence in her marriage?"

Crawford thought about it but shook his head 'no'. "She never spoke of violence."

Mike gave a nod and wrote that down before asking, "What did she speak of? Her reasons for being scared of her husband?"

"She never told me she was scared of him. What she spoke of was indifference. She told me that D.W. was very distant, un-attentive, and unloving. That he cared more about his business than about her. They never spent any time together other than the time they spent in bed, and that itself had become a rarity."

That confused Mike; not the distant part, because even he'd noticed that, but the fact that Tonya never mentioned to her lover that she was scared. "Then how did she explain it to you that she had her brother move into the guest room?"

Crawford had a confused look of his own as he told him, "I wouldn't know seeing how she never told me anything of the sort."

"Do you know her brother? His name's Edward Atwood?"

At the mention of the name Crawford hesitated. He blinked back, surprised, before quickly recovering. It was too late, Mike saw it. "I don't know who-"

"You're lying," Mike said, cutting his denial off.

"This questioning is over," Crawford told him. "If you have any more questions, you can contact my lawyer."

Mike sighed and flipped his notepad closed and pocketed it along with his pen. Getting up, he took the bottle of water with him as he saw himself out. As he got to the front door, he turned and asked, "Where were you the day she was murdered?"

Crawford looked over at him as he continued to sit in the chair. "I was preparing for an opening that evening. I was in my office and I have witnesses."

Mike opened the door and left. At least he was telling the truth with that last answer. As he walked to the elevator, he was thinking more and more that this Edward Atwood wasn't who McCullough had thought he was. And, he didn't know now if Crawford was who he thought he was either.

It wouldn't have been hard for McCullough to believe what his wife had told him, or to even not know what in the hell was going on with her and her life and friends. According to everyone, including McCullough's own admission, it didn't seem that the man knew his wife very well at all. He didn't pay her enough attention.

That suspicion was confirmed when he was on his way back to the Brooklyn hospital where Bobby was recovering, when he answered his phone while stopped at a red light. "Logan."

"Hello? My name's Kim Cohen, you called me about my brother, Eddie Atwood."

Mike felt a spark of excitement as he said, "Yes, I'm an investigator involved in your brother's murder." He wasn't going to tell her that he was working for the defense; she might hang up on him. "I only have one question that needs answered."

"Well, what'd you want?" she asked impatiently.

"Besides you, did he have any other siblings? Another sister?"

She was quiet for a moment before asking, "This some kind of joke?"

"No, Miss Cohen-"

"That's Ms. Cohen, Mr. Logan, and the answer is no."

He heard a car honk behind him and saw the light green. Taking a quick right when he really wanted to go straight, he parked the car at the corner so he could talk without driving, and asked, "Not a half or stepsister? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. The only other sibling we had was an older brother, but he's dead. Who'd you think is Eddie's sister? That Tonya woman he was killed with?"

Mike hesitated for a moment then asked, "Do you know her?"

"I know she was making trouble with him."

Mike pulled out his notepad and pen as he asked, "What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know what kind, just trouble. Look, cop, I haven't seen Eddie in nearly five years and we don't talk much. The only reason I know about her was because he called to ask for some money like always. I asked him what for and he told me he was helping a woman in trouble, Tonya something. I can't remember her last name. Next thing I know, I see on the news he's dead with her and her husband is suspected of killing them both. I'm not surprised of that either. It was only a matter of time before Eddie pissed off the wrong person."

"He has a record?"

"You a cop, you know that he don't, but that doesn't mean he's clean. He ain't clean and hasn't been since he was young."

Mike quickly wrote all of that down as he asked, "Drugs? Gambling problems?"

"All of it. He's a loser."

"Ms. Cohen, would it be okay if I came by tomorrow to go over a few more things."

"Yeah, I mind. I don't want no cops around here. You know where I live?"

"I'm not a cop," he finally told her. "I work for the attorney who's defending Tonya's husband."

Kim Cohen was quiet for a long moment and then she said, "You asshole! I thought you were a cop! You tryin' to get that bastard off after he killed my brother!"

"Ms. Cohen, please-"

"Fuck you!" she told him right before she hung up.

Mike sighed and shut his cell. He tossed it onto the passenger seat and leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

* * *

_Queens Medical Center_

_Queens, NY_

Alex was starting to hate hospitals. She waited outside the surgery room as Gary Holder's shattered leg was being put back together. He'd completely broken the leg in half along with the ankle to his right foot. He wouldn't be walking anytime soon yet alone jumping off of anymore balconies.

It was going on six at night and she couldn't remember eating since breakfast that morning. Knowing she had time, she went down to the cafeteria and after wrinkling her nose at the selections, decided to head across the street from the hospital instead. There was a nail spa and hair salon, dry cleaners, pharmacy, a 99 cent store, pizza joint, an accident injury lawyer's office, a deli, and a café called Mama Rae's Café.

She headed to Mama Rae's.

Twenty minutes later Barek walked in to join her. As her partner sat down, she asked, "What's the word?"

Barek groaned and buried her head in her hands. "There is no link between the shooter, Jack Frazier, and Hugh Crawford. No money transactions, no mention of the name anywhere in his phone records, emails, or correspondences. I'm getting the feeling that they don't know each other at all. So far, he checks out and is cleared."

They had discovered the name of their unnamed shooter only yesterday when they released the picture to the media in hopes of identifying the John Doe. It had worked because not more than six hours after the release they had a name. Unfortunately the man was squeaky clean with no priors on record, which was why his prints weren't in the database.

Alex nodded as she finished her big Chicken Caesar Salad and pushed the empty bowl away. Picking up her iced tea, she finished that off as well. Barek ordered a hot cup of mocha coffee from the waitress who walked up to the table.

Alex asked for a regular hot coffee with sugar to go before turning to Barek. "I'm waiting for my suspect to get out of surgery and to wake up from the anesthetic, and he still might not be able to tell me anything."

"There were no prints other than Goren's on the bottle and on the cabinet. This guy was wearing gloves."

"That doesn't prove that this Holder guy did it, but it doesn't disprove it either seeing how if he was down there cleaning up the crime scene then he was more than likely wearing gloves," Alex said even though she knew Barek already knew it. Things sometimes clicked or made more sense when you talked them out. "There could be a connection between Holder and Frazier that could point us to who hired them."

"You're assuming it's Holder who poisoned Goren?"

"I'm going with it since we really have nothing. He's the newest to the crew and he shot at us and tried to flee. That's enough for me and it's enough probable cause to search his place. I'm waiting on the warrant from Carver. Once I get the go ahead, I'm going back to Holder's apartment."

The waitress returned and she took a sip of her coffee as she got up. Barek did the same as she started to follow her out of the café after she paid. Out on the sidewalk, she told her, "I'll go back to 1PP and once the warrant comes through, I'll start working the phone records and comparing them. Maybe the same name or number will pop on both."

Alex nodded as she headed back across the street the hospital while Barek headed back to her car.

* * *

_Brooklyn Methodist Hospital_

He felt dizzy, nauseous, and in a hell of a lot of pain as he became aware of noises around him. There was a beeping sound, a repeated intake and depression of air, and soft talking. He tried to swallow and felt the sudden restriction, the sharp pain, and the gagging sensation kicked in. He was choking.

He went to grab his neck and felt a hose over his throat, coming from his mouth, which caused him to panic even more. A hand grabbed his and worked to loosen his grip on the tube.

"Bobby!" It was John Eames's voice in his ear. "Bobby, don't pull that out, it's keeping you breathing."

He listened to the words and felt himself trying to suck in air on his own and every time he tried he felt the pain and restriction. Finally, letting go, he reached frantically around and gripped the bedrails.

"You're in the hospital. You're okay. Understand? You're going to be okay."

He tried to relax and speak but couldn't do either.

"Nurse! Nurse, he's awake!" John yelled out the room.

Bobby finally sunk back in the bed as he told himself that he was alive, and that he was breathing despite not being able to do it himself. That thought worried him. Why couldn't he breathe on his own? Were his lungs still intact? What the hell happened? He wanted to ask John all of those questions but nothing could get past the obstruction in his throat.

"Mr. Goren? I'm Nurse May, like the month. I'm going to check your vitals and ensure everything's okay. Just nod your head if you understand, dear."

It took him a moment but he nodded.

"That's good. You're heart rate is returning to normal, blood pressure's a little high. Relax and let the machine do the breathing, try not to fight it."

Bobby nodded and tried to do as she asked but it was hard to not think about it. He didn't know what was going on or why. Finally out of desperation, he started to move his hands frantically. There was a moment of silence once he dropped his hands and he knew he got their attention, and gave them a way to let him ask his questions and get some answers.

"Was that sign language?" Nurse May asked.

Bobby nodded.

"I'll be right back with a doctor we have on staff who works with the deaf," she told him.

"You're just full of surprises," a woman said and he wanted to smile but couldn't. Alex had arrived at some point, probably when the nurse was checking his vitals. "You didn't tell me that one of the other languages you spoke wasn't a speaking one."

Bobby turned toward their voices and felt himself feeling better and safer knowing that there were people there who were looking out for him. He tried to swallow again and regretted it as he started choking again.

"Hey," Alex said as he felt a hand push him back into the bed. "Stop doing that, you're scaring everyone." He waited and she told him, "Mike and my dad are here; Denise was earlier but she had to go home. It's late."

He nodded and calmed a little more. Someone pushed a door open and he heard a man's voice.

"I'm Doctor Valdez. I understand you know sign?"

Bobby quickly started "talking" to the doctor, needing to know why he was there and what was going on.

"Whoa, easy," the doctor said with a chuckle. "One question at a time, okay? You're here because you were poisoned. It was methanol."

"We found traces of it in your scotch bottle," Alex told him as he felt a weight on the edge of the bed. She was sitting next to him. "Don't worry, we cleaned your entire brownstone out and restocked with all newly bought items just in case."

Bobby thought about that and felt angry that he'd missed that. He should've been more aware, and more cautious, when he returned home. Giving another nod, he then asked with his hands, "My treatment?"

Doctor Valdez answered, "You've been given medication, we cleaned out your stomach, and had to do dialysis to flush it out of your blood. It was the quickest way possible. Now, for the tube in your throat; when you collapsed at home, you stopped breathing and your heart stopped as well. They got your heart pumping again but you couldn't breathe. In the ambulance they had to perform a trachea intubation. However, due to the circumstances they couldn't insert the tube down your throat at the time, so they had to make an incision in your throat. Once you got here, we were able to properly intubate. That's what's helping you to breathe right now. Your lungs were weakened from the poisoning and are struggling to work on their own, so this is helping them to recover and regain strength. By tomorrow, we should be able to take it out."

Bobby then asked, "My dog?"

"He wants to know about his dog."

Alex answered that as she told him, "Atticus is fine. George is looking after him."

"Suspects?" he quickly asked as he nodded.

Doctor Valdez told her, "He wants to know about suspects."

Alex hesitated and he quickly signed his annoyance.

"He's-"

"I got it, Doctor. I don't need to know sign to know what that meant," Alex said before she answered him. "It's on-going."

Bobby was feeling his chest start to tighten from his anxiousness and frustration. It was starting to hurt.

"I think that's enough for now," Doctor Valdez said. "Your heart rate is skyrocketing. You need to calm down, Mr. Goren."

"I hurt," he quickly signed. "My chest hurts."

"How bad, on a scale-"

He held up ten fingers and groaned loudly.

"I'm going to give you a sedative. You need to sleep and let your body heal," Valdez told him.

Not more than a few minute later, he felt the pain start to ease and his whole body eased into the bed. It wasn't long before he was asleep.

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews and for reading.

The end of this chapter is rated M.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Alex's Apartment_

_Rockaway, Queens_

Shifting in bed, she felt the warm presence against her chest. Opening her eyes, she smiled down at Joey asleep next to her. She remembered getting home late last night and found him in her bed. She had pulled him close and held him tight as she drifted off to sleep. It was six in the morning and she sighed; at least she slept for six hours. Joey didn't have to be up for another hour to get ready for school.

Closing her eyes, she tried to go back to sleep but it evaded her. Sleep was now only a distant longing. Rubbing her hand over Joey's back and through his hair, she leaned down and kissed his head as she took the time to just enjoy her time with him in her arms.

It seemed like only seconds later when the alarm went off in the other room; her sister hadn't expected her home so she had set the alarm to wake her at seven to get Joey up. Alex heard her sister curse softly as the beeping stopped.

Liz appeared in the doorway and saw her in bed. Without saying anything, she smiled and walked away.

Alex sighed heavily; she didn't want to wake up or to get Joey up. She wanted to stay right there for the rest of the day with her son. Running her hand through his hair again, she gently waked him.

At first he was groggy and half asleep, and not expecting it was her, he pushed her hand away and mumbled, "No, Aunt Liz."

"I'm not Aunt Liz," she softly told him with mock resentment.

Joey's eyes squinted as he opened them and looked at her. Then they got real big and he smiled. "Mom," he said before giving her a hug and nestling back against her. "I thought I was dreaming you were here."

"Nope, not a dream," she told him as she hugged him back and refusing to let go.

He yawned and closed his eyes again. "I don't wanna go to school today, mommy."

Alex was on to him already. He only called her 'mommy' now when he wanted something. "Why not?"

"I missed you. Can I stay home with you today?"

Alex wished he could, but she had work to do. "I'm sorry, baby, not today. You can stay home from school tomorrow."

Joey opened his eyes and gave her a weird look, and said with a chuckle, "Tomorrow's Saturday."

Alex thought about the days and realized he was right. She couldn't believe it was Friday already. "It is, isn't it? See, tomorrow you can stay with me all day."

He smiled and it quickly turned into another yawn. "I'm tired."

"What time did you go to sleep?"

"After Scooby-Doo was over. It was late."

Alex chuckled; this kid's sense of time was based solely on what cartoon he watched last. Leaning over, she kissed him on the head and said, "C'mon, it's time to get up."

He nodded before rolling over to get out of the bed; he rolled back real quick and hugged her again and said, "Love you."

"Love you too, baby."

"I'm not a baby anymore," he protested again as he got out of the bed.

"I didn't mean it literally, little boy. It's an endearment."

Joey stopped at the door and turned around and pointed his finger at her. "Mommy, I advise you to stop with the endearment," he told her before turning around and heading to his bedroom.

Alex just laughed and shook her head. She was being advised by an eight year old. She got up and headed to the kitchen where Liz was brewing coffee and making pancakes and bacon all with Nate firmly placed on her hip. "Is it me or is Joey turning into a man already."

"Oh, you should've heard him yesterday. He wanted to walk to school all by himself and when I told him no, he told me I was being inconsiderate. Personally, I think he takes after you."

Alex poured a cup of coffee and smiled. Despite her son's attitude, he was a great kid and she loved his sense of independence even at a young age. Like any mother, she didn't want her son to grow up too quickly, but Joey seemed now more than ever to do just that.

"Could you take him," Liz said as she offered Nate to her.

Alex took her nephew from Liz and Nate immediately wrapped his arms around her as he put his head on her shoulder and yawned. Nate was going to be 12 months next month; he was getting so big and already walking. Alex thought that the kid was determined to catch up with Joey.

"Mom," Joey said as he walked into the kitchen, hitching his pants up with one hand and holding out his belt. "I keep missing the loop."

She pulled Nate's highchair over and sat the boy down in it only for Nate to start protesting. She knelt down and took the belt from Joey and put it around his pants, making sure to get it through the loop in the back that he always had trouble with.

"There," she said as she smoothed out his white button-down shirt. He was in a private Catholic school and had to wear a uniform.

She watched as Joey went over to his own coat rake that she'd bought two years ago. It was only three feet high and he liked to hang up his own jackets now. Taking the jacket off the rake, he put it on as he walked back into the kitchen. Sticking out of the pocket was the clip-on tie which he took out and put on himself.

She shook her head at him and felt the tears in her eyes. Her son was getting so big. When did that happen? Probably while she was at work day-in and out; eight years went by so fast and he was going to be nine in less than two months. Soon he would be a teenager and dating girls.

Dear God, she thought as she shook her head, he was going to be a heartbreaker.

Joey had her dirty blond hair, her late husband's blue eyes, and their Irish spunk and wit. He was short and stocky right now but she knew just by looking at him that he was going to grow up tall and built wide like his father. Joe had been built tall and wide and he hardly had to work-out to maintain his muscular build. Joey was only a kid but he was stronger than most boys his age.

He loved football and she had let him play on a youth team for kids his age. The first game of the season was three weeks ago and Joey had nearly broke a boy's arm when he tackled him. The coach was impressed but the other boy's father wasn't. They put Joey on the offensive side instead and he was good at protecting the quarterback because every kid that tried to get by, Joey knocked to the ground. Her son was strong and protective, but also very loving and kind. She believed he was going to be a good man and a very good "big brother" to his cousin Nathan.

Liz prepared them plates and sat them on the table with syrup for the pancakes. Alex got Nathan his breakfast which was a bowl of oatmeal and fruits. Nate was determined to feed himself and that usually ended in a mess but to see the boy's expression when he tasted something new made the mess well worth it.

They all sat down and started to eat breakfast while Joey told her all about his day at school yesterday. Then he mentioned a girl named Amanda. "She's new and has really pretty hair. It's like yours, mom, but longer. How come girls' hair is so pretty?"

Alex heard Liz chuckle as she stared at her son. "You're eight, why are you noticing that girls have pretty hair?"

Joey just rolled his eyes and said, "Because I'm a boy, duh."

Alex heard Liz start to laugh now and looked over at her and said, "Wait until Nate starts noticing pretty girls." Then she turned back to Joey and said, "And don't 'duh' me."

Joey chuckled as he finished off his pancake. "Are you walking me?"

"Of course," she told him as she finished off her food and cup of coffee.

"Can we stop at the bodega on the corner? I wanna get her flowers."

She stared at him and said, "Are you courting her?"

Joey looked confused and said, "Huh?" before telling her, "I have my own money. I've been saving."

Alex looked to Liz who shrugged and asked, "Has he mentioned Amanda before?"

"A few times since Monday, but this is the first he mentioned buying her anything," Liz told her as she cleared the table of the empty plates.

Joey said, "I want to get the blue ones. They match her eyes."

Alex groaned and covered her face. "You are too young to buy a girl flowers."

"But, mom," he groaned and whined. "I want her to like me too. Devin said I was too chicken to do it. And I'm not a chicken, mom."

"Well, Devin doesn't need to be encouraging you by calling you that."

"What's the big deal, Alex?" Liz said as she put the plates and cups in the dish washer. "They're just flowers. It's not like he's asking to borrow the keys to the car so he can go to lookout point."

"Aunt Liz," Joey said as she got down from the chair. "I'm not old enough to drive."

"The way you're headed kid, you will be by tomorrow," Liz teased him as he walked out of the kitchen.

Alex looked up at Liz and got up, saying, "You're right; they're just flowers."

"And it's adorable," Liz said with a smile. "Take a picture of him buying them for me."

Alex shook her head with a smile as she left the kitchen. She quickly changed and put on her shoes and grabbed a light jacket. It was cool outside that morning. "Get a jacket," she told Joey as he tried to leave without grabbing one.

He groaned again as he walked back in and grabbed a jacket. Taking his backpack off, he put the jacket on but didn't zip it up before putting his backpack back on. Alex followed him out the door to the elevator.

"Got everything?"

"Yes," he said as he bent down and tied his shoe lace that had come undone.

She watched him as she remembered a time only a few years ago when he had trouble tying his laces and had to ask her for help. Now, it seemed that he didn't need her help for anything, other than properly belting his pants. The doors the elevator slid open and they got off.

They walked out of the building and down to the corner where Joey told the clerk at the flower stand that he wanted the blue flowers. He pulled some money out of his pocket that he'd saved from his allowance. The money was meant to buy him lunch but he'd been working a lot around the apartment and taking on extra chores for more money. Joey learned very early that if he wanted his own stuff or anything extra at lunch, he needed to get paid.

Joey counted through his wad of cash himself and paid the clerk for the flowers. They continued the four blocks to the street before crossing over to the other side and then continued down another two.

At the corner, he stopped her by saying, "I can go the rest of the way by myself, mom."

"Are you sure?"

Joey nodded as he looked one way then the other and then at the light. Once the 'don't walk' light switched to 'walk', he looked both ways again before walking across the street all by himself. He got to the other corner and turned around to wave at her before heading down the sidewalk to the school.

Alex took a breath and watched as he ran up to a blond-headed girl who was walking with other little girls and a parent to the school from the other direction. Joey seemed to hesitate at first but then he handed her the flowers. The other girls giggled and some blushed even though the flowers weren't for them. The boys were laughing too but more out of teasing Joey for his actions. The blond girl smiled at him before taking his hand in hers as they walked up the steps together and disappeared inside the school.

"Oh, brother," she told herself before smiling and shaking her head. Just like she had feared, her son was going to break a lot of hearts.

She also knew that if any other boy was mean to that little blond girl, she was going to get a phone call about her son being in a fight. His protectiveness was now going to start shifting to the opposite sex. She already pitied any boy who tried to be mean to his girl.

Turning away, she headed back home.

* * *

_Brooklyn Methodist Hospital_

The tube was finally taken out of his throat after he'd awoken for the second time. Bobby swallowed a few times and groaned at the soreness he felt but was glad he could swallow without choking, and that he was breathing once again on his own. He was eating breakfast which consisted of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and Jell-O when he heard the top news story of the morning.

"Good morning on this very chilly Friday morning and we come to you with breaking news as we learn that only three days after an attempt on his life that resulted in a self-defense shooting early Tuesday morning, Criminal Defense Attorney Robert Goren was rushed to the hospital yesterday from another attempt on his life. We go now to our field correspondent Travis Connors who's live outside of Brooklyn Methodist Hospital. Travis?"

"Morning, Bill, and as you said, just days since the shooting at Defense Attorney Robert Goren's residence he's in the hospital this morning recovering in ICU from an apparent poisoning. We received confirmation from a source within the hospital that he's in stable condition and should be released later today if not tomorrow. This is the second attempt on the attorney's life this week, and only days away from pre-trial for the Dwight McCullough case that starts Monday. The director and film tycoon has been charged with the murder of his wife, Tonya McCullough, and her brother, Edward Atwood, three months ago."

The news report then went on to recap all the elements of the crime and when and where before returning back to the current news story.

Bill jones, the lead reporter from the studio, said, "Thank you, Travis. Have you received any word from the NYPD about suspects?"

"I left messages for the NYPD and have yet to receive any comments regarding suspects, but this is an on-going investigation and I've seen police coming and going from the hospital. They have also put a guard on Robert Goren's hospital room to ensure his safety, Bill."

The other studio correspondent, Marsha Evans, then said rather jokingly, "It seems that the only person they need to ensure Robert Goren's safety is the man himself."

Bill Jones then said amused, "It still amazes me that a man, who we now know to be Jack Frazier, entered Goren's home and fired at him fifteen times only to miss, and Goren, who is blind, got off one shot and killed the suspect."

"This story over the past days has also sparked gun control debates about the fact that it is legal for the blind and other handicapped people to buy and own weapons including guns. We have learned over the course of the week that blind people can even go hunting if they have a sighted person with them," Marsha Evans reported. "It's fascinating to learn all these things that you never would've considered because of something like this happening, a self-defense shooting involving a person who is blind."

They continued for a few more seconds before moving on to the second news story but he stopped listening as he hit the button that turned the TV off. Bobby shook his head at the obvious ignorance and misconceptions of what it was like to not be able to see by the reporters. It wasn't fascinating that a blind person could own a gun or shoot one; they had every right as anyone else and they could do just about anything a sighted person could. There were exceptions like driving, obviously.

But, then again, most people didn't care to educate themselves on the matter unless they had to, or if something like that happened. He bet they even thought that he had shot the guy ten feet away by using his superior hearing, instead of because the man was on the floor with him right on top of him with the gun shoved into his body. He didn't have superior hearing, he just couldn't see so he wasn't distracted by sight. He listened more closely so he could hear a door open instead of watching something that took away from his auditory sense, but that didn't mean he could hear a pin drop in the next room. He wasn't a fucking dog.

And at the moment, the door to his room was opening. "Morning, Bobby."

Smiling he said, "Morning, Alex," as he turned his head toward her voice.

"You're looking better."

"I feel better," he said as he went back to finishing his breakfast. He used a spoon to shovel the last of the eggs into his mouth. "And I'm holding food down, that's a good sign." He heard a chair squeak next to him and looked toward the noise. "So, what's the news?"

Alex sat quiet for a moment before telling him, "You should be out of here tomorrow."

"I'm not waiting until tomorrow," he quickly told her. "I'll go AMA before I stay another full day. The poison is out of my body and I can breathe on my own. There's no reason for me to stay." Bobby finished off the eggs and oatmeal but pushed the Jell-O away. He hated the stuff, especially the kind with fruit in it. "And I just heard a news reporter say that I might be released later today, and you know that if they said it then it has to be true," he said a little too sarcastically.

She sounded a little annoyed but understanding as she said, "I'll see what I can do, but if your doctors need you to stay for the good of your health, you should stay."

Bobby didn't like hearing that at all. He felt fine now; the pain was all gone and it didn't hurt to breathe. Deciding to not fight about it with Alex, he asked, "Have you found out who poisoned me?"

"We've got a guy in custody we've yet to question. He's recovering from surgery. Once he's awake, I'm sure he'll spill."

"You're certain he's the one who did it?"

"Yes," she said without further explanation.

Bobby knew that she couldn't tell him anymore than that, and that was okay. He nodded and leaned back on the bed. He was getting tired of lying around. There was no way he was staying another day.

A few hours later his doctor agreed as he was given the okay to leave, but he had to have someone to be there for a few days, just in case.

"Don't worry," he told the doctor as he pulled on a shirt, "I'm not going to be left alone in my house for quite some time. If anything needs to be signed, Mike Logan can do it."

"He's already signed off on everything we needed," his doctor told him. "Take it easy, counselor and try to get plenty of rest over the weekend."

Bobby huffed out a laugh as he found his walking stick and started for the door. "I'll try."

Out in the hallway, Logan said, "This way," as he nudged him slightly and started down the hall.

He heard heels clicking beside him to the left and said, "I thought I said something about you being more vocal."

"Sorry," Alex said as she hooked her arm with his. "Are you sure you want to go back home so soon?"

Bobby nodded. "I'm sure. They're not going to scare me away from my own home, Alex. Besides," he said as he tilted his head down slightly, telling her, "you'll be there."

"Little good I did last time."

"Hey, you did great. You saved my life. And now that my place has been cleared of all potential poisons, I don't have to worry about it."

Alex was quiet as they got on the elevator. It went down a few floors before coming to a stop. She let go of his arm and told him to wait. Bobby waited as he heard the doors open but not close.

"They're staking out the front," Logan said from a distance.

He felt a hand on his arm and then Alex told him, "Come on. We're going out the back."

"Who's out front?" Bobby asked as he was steered to the right instead of the left.

"The vultures," Logan told him.

Bobby stopped walking and yanked Alex's arm off his. Turning around, he started for the front.

"Bobby."

"I want them to see me walk out," he said as he kept hitting the side of the wall with the stick. "And who's to say that the back is clear. It's safer going out front."

Logan grumbled something he couldn't hear but he knew the tone. Mike didn't like it, but he knew he couldn't do anything about it. "Left," he told him when he stopped hitting wall and instead felt air.

Bobby turned and felt Alex once again take his arm, but this time to slow him down.

"Let us make sure it's safe," she told him. "The last thing we need is for you to get shot in front of a bunch of reporters."

He stopped walking and felt himself nod. Bobby heard a sliding door open and felt a gush of air hit him. They were at the entrance and he could hear commotion on the other side of the doors Alex had walked through. Logan was still near him, he could smell the man's cologne and aftershave. A few phones were ringing around him, people were talking softly as a television played the talk show, and he started to feel extremely anxious. Rubbing at his head and neck, he took in a deep breath as the doors slid open again.

"Okay," Alex told him. "My dad's parked right out front on the corner, but the reporters are literally at the door. No one's out of the ordinary. Ready?"

He dropped his hand and gave a nod as his grip tightened on the stick as he started forward. It wasn't until he got outside that he realized that the reason he was so anxious was due to fear. Fear not from the bombardment of questions the reporters would throw at him as he was helped to the car by Mike and Alex, but fear of the unknown. Of not being able to protect himself, or them, if someone did decide to shoot.

As soon as he was in the back of the car and it started to move, he finally released the breath he'd been holding and leaned his head back on the seat.

"Are you doing okay, Bobby?" Logan asked.

Taking a breath, he shook his head and swallowed hard. He wasn't doing okay at all if he was allowing himself to be afraid.

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

Alex received a call from Queens Medical the moment she walked into the brownstone. Gary Holder was finally awake and ready to talk. "I'll be right there," she said before flipping the phone shut.

Bobby had headed straight to the ground floor, leaving her alone in the living room. He hadn't said anything in the car other than for her dad to stop so he could pick up a new bottle of scotch. Alex almost told her dad to not stop because could tell that Bobby's mood had darkened. However, she couldn't tell Bobby what to or what to not drink. Logan had gone into the liquor store and returned to the car with the scotch and a six pack of beer.

Her dad had gone next door to get Atticus from George. And knowing her dad, he would be over there for a while talking to the other man. Going down the stairs, she walked through the open French doors and saw him seated in the recliner in front of the fireplace. Logan was in the other recliner next to him. She had wondered before why there were two chairs; now she knew.

Logan was speaking softly to him and all Alex could make out were the words "calm down". Stepping over to the chair, she noticed the beer bottle in Bobby's left hand while he rested his head in the right as he rubbed his temple. He was hunched over and leaning on his knees.

"Bobby, I've got to go, but I need to ask you something first."

He didn't even move to acknowledge she'd said anything. Logan leaned back in the chair, tapping his beer bottle against the side of the chair and gave a nod letting her know to continue.

"There're a few names I need to run by you-"

"I don't know Jack Frazier," Bobby softly spoke, still rubbing at his head.

Alex gave a nod. "How'd you-"

"I heard his name on the news this morning," he told her.

"Okay, how about a Gary Holder?"

Bobby slightly tilted his head as if turning it up so he could look at her. He was quiet a moment before sighing heavily. He sat back in the chair and gave a shake of his head before he brought the bottle up and finished it off. "Is he the one who poisoned me?"

"Maybe, I'm about to go ask him that now. Logan-"

"I'm not going anywhere," Logan told her as he crossed his legs at the ankles and sipped on his bottle of beer.

Alex left the two men alone as she headed up the stairs and out of the house.

* * *

Bobby heard Alex leave as the door shut upstairs. Turning to Logan, he said, "You don't have to stay. I'm perfectly fine, and John's here. Besides, you still have a job to do."

It was so quiet in the house he could hear the hum from the refrigerator in the next room. He got up and walked into the kitchen to toss his empty bottle away. Logan had shoved it into his hand and reminded him of being on pain meds before he even touched the scotch. That was Mike though, always trying to protect him even when it was from himself.

The last thing he wanted right then was to remain remotely sober. He went back into the study, opened his liquor cabinet and searched around it. When he didn't feel the bottle, he sighed and slammed it shut. He searched around the table under the cabinet and when he only felt empty tumblers and no bottle, he gripped the sides and dropped his head as his jaw twitched.

"What'd I tell you?" Logan said from behind him.

"First off," he said as he continued to keep his head down as he gripped the table. "It's not any of your business whether I drink now or not. Secondly, the last time I had pain medication was last night."

"You're still recovering-"

"I'm fine," he stressed before he let go of the table and turned around.

"You're fine," Logan snapped as he banged the bottle down on a table. "You almost died yesterday. You're heart stopped. They had to revive you, put you on dialysis to flush poison out of your blood, and you're fine."

Bobby didn't like it when Logan did that. He was contradicting him and making him feel guilty, like he was the one in the wrong. "I've been cleared by the doctors and I'm okay."

"Give it a day, Bobby. Why can't you do that? Go to bed or something, calm yourself down, read a book…just don't do this today."

"Do what?!" he yelled as his was starting to lose his patience.

"I know you. I know how you self-destruct and I've come to realize the warning signs, pal. You're pissed off that someone got in here, into your sanctuary, and used it against you. You're pissed that you almost died. But worst of all, you're pissed because you're scared to death that whoever's behind this might succeed."

"They won't succeed," he said as he turned back around and felt around the table. His fingers found the metallic case and he opened it, took out a cigarette and grabbed the lighter. "Not as long as you and the police do their job."

"Now you're smoking?"

"You won't let me drink," he shot back as he lit the cigarette and sat the lighter down. It'd been over a year since he last smoked but he always seemed to buy a new pack every so often in case the temptation hit him. Leaning on the table, he said, "I don't want to talk about this, Mike. If you ahven't noticed, I go to pre-trial in three days. I know you found something out because I know you too. You weren't standing watch by my side the whole day yesterday. You went out and did your job. Did Atwood's sister ever call you back?"

There was no carpet down there in the study and he heard Logan start walking toward him. Logan sat the bottle on the table with a very audible smack before walking away, back over to the chairs. "She did. I'm trying to verify what she'd told me because it makes no sense to me. According to her, she's Atwood's only sibling."

"We need to find her. I want her as a witness."

"I'll get on it," Logan said but he didn't sound too sure about it. "Once she found out I was working for you she cussed me out and ended the call."

"I don't care," he said as he picked up the bottle and opened it. "I'll subpoena her if I have to. I want her statement and her testimony. It'll help me establish reasonable doubt. You know, the more we're finding out, the more I think that it wasn't because of Tonya that they were killed. I think we're looking at this the wrong way. Edward Atwood could have been the original target, Tonya just happened to get caught in the middle."

"I've been thinking the same. Hell, who knows, your client might actually be innocent after all."

Bobby grabbed a glass and poured a small amount into it and offered it to Logan as he held it out in front of him.

"No thanks," Logan said as he started to walk across the room. "I'll be upstairs," Mike muttered to him before leaving the room.

Bobby knew Mike was upset with him for going right back to drinking again since being released from the hospital, but right then he really didn't care.

* * *

_Queens Medical Center_

Alex was finally let back into Recovery and found Gary Holder sitting up in bed, his whole leg bolted and cased and suspended in air. A set of crutches were leaning against the wall by the bed. Keeping him attached to the bed rail was a set of handcuffs that entrapped his left wrist.

Turning toward her, he looked her over, smirked slightly, and then turned away. "I got nothing to say to you cop." He picked up the remote to the TV and turned the channels.

She walked over and snatched the remote from his hand and turned the TV off. Holder yelled and protested but she ignored him as she tossed the remote across the room onto a chair in the corner.

"Bitch," he said as he glared at her. That was all he could do since he couldn't get out of the bed.

"You have no idea how much of a bitch I can be if you don't answer my questions."

"What'd you going to do if I don't? I'm already under arrest."

"You're right, you are, but as of now you're only facing charges of evading. If you don't talk, I'll make sure to tell the DA to charge you with attempted murder on two police officers. That's a felony with maximum prison time of 25 years…each."

Holder's cocky smirk faded and he looked away. He was angry but more scared than anything.

"First, how did you get the job with NYC Crime Scene Cleanup?"

He sighed heavily as he said, "I have my connections."

"I need your contact's name."

"This is bullshit."

"You're the one who shot at two cops and jumped off a balcony," she told him as he glared over at her. "We could've done this without the broken leg and you looking at life in prison."

"Ryan Ortiz. He fills in part-time when they need him. I met him when we both were looking for work at the same construction company. We help each other out at getting jobs."

Alex wrote all that down as she asked, "Where can I reach him at?"

He gave her Ortiz's phone number and that was it; he said that he didn't know where Ortiz lived. Alex then said, "You were recently on the crew who cleaned up Robert Goren's house."

Holder shook his head and said, "I didn't poison him."

"Who said he was poisoned?"

He looked over at her and pointed to the TV. "The news. It's all over the place."

"If you didn't poison him, then why'd you run?"

"Because fuck the police, that's why," he said but Alex could tell he was deflecting. He didn't want to answer.

"Then I guess we're done here. I'll make sure to tell the DA to go for life without parole, you obviously don't care to make a deal." She got up to leave and was halfway to the door when she heard him.

"It wasn't meant to kill him."

She stopped at the door and turned around. Holder was staring at his leg and gritting his teeth. "If you weren't trying to kill him, than what-"

"We were told to scare him into dropping the case."

Alex walked back to the bed and asked, "We? Meaning you and Frazier?"

Holder gave a nod but didn't say anything.

"Who told you to scare him?"

Holder was quiet for a long moment before shaking his head.

"Holder-"

"I want a lawyer." He looked over at her and asked, "Think that Goren guy would represent me?"

"I doubt it," she told him before leaving the hospital room.

Alex opened her cell and quickly called Barek to inform her of the update. Carolyn was mostly working the paper trail of this whole mess from Major Case while she did the footwork. Alex was fine with that since she was the one tasked with basically being Goren's bodyguard; she couldn't do that if she was chained to the desk at 1PP.

Once Barek answered, she told her what Holder said including his connection to Jack Frazier, the man who'd tried to shoot Goren. She also told her to look into Ryan Ortiz.

"Anything on your end?" Alex asked as she got to her car.

"I've got phone records between Gary Holder and Jack Frazier going back almost two weeks. Before then, they never contacted one another. No phone calls, emails, no known associates of any kind. As far as I can tell they were virtual strangers until two weeks ago."

Alex thought about what all that could mean and she didn't like it. "How about Crawford?"

"I'm looking into it, but I've got nothing so far. I could really use your help with some of this."

"I know, but I can't stay away from the Goren for too long. How about tomorrow you bring everything you have over and we'll work it together. The entire top floor of his brownstone is empty aside from the guest room. We'll have privacy up there, and quiet."

"That's not exactly what I want to do on my day off, but I guess I've got no other choice. See you tomorrow."

* * *

_Bobby's Brownstone_

She was on the phone again. Bobby heard her soft murmur drifting from the living room into the kitchen. He wiped his hands off on a hand towel he had over his shoulder and went into the dining room.

"I know that, but I've got a job to do-" Alex's voice sounded apologetic, and very disappointed. It was disappointed in whoever it was on the other end of the call, but in herself.

He cleared his throat, getting her attention or he hoped.

"It's my son," she said louder.

"Go home," he told her and then turned around and went back into the kitchen.

He was opening the refrigerator when he heard he walk in, her heels clicked over the tile behind him.

"I can't go home," she said.

Bobby opened a bottle and sniffed the content, it was the steak sauce. He shut the door and turned around but hesitated before walking. He knew she was relatively close and didn't want to walk into her. "Yes, you can. You don't have to be here right now. There's an unmarked police car sitting outside, and I've got two dogs looking after me." George had taken him up on his offer so he could stay with his ill wife overnight. Atticus was running around with Odyssey outside as Mike prepared the grill. "And Mike's going to be here. You have time to go home, have dinner with your family, and come back later. Or, you can meet them halfway at some restaurant. It's important for you to spend time with your son, Alex."

She was quiet for a moment and he took that time to walk to the counter. He sat the bottle of sauce beside the bottle of salad dressing. He had made the salad, prepared the steaks, and just now finished cutting up some potatoes to wrap in foil with chopped onions and Italian dressing. Mike liked to grill out but didn't like doing all the prep work. And it wasn't like he could grill anyway since he couldn't see, so he didn't mind preparing everything.

"Joey, put Aunt Liz on the phone…Hey, Liz, have you started dinner yet? How about you get the kids ready and we meet up for dinner? Okay, that sounds great. It'll take me about thirty to forty minutes to get there. Yeah, bye," Alex said before ending the call.

"Before you leave, would you mind helping me take this downstairs?" he asked.

He waited for a response and didn't get one, but he did hear her walk over close before walking away. Bobby sighed and shook his head. He didn't like having to constantly remind her to talk to him. He let it go because he knew she had grabbed the steaks and the salad bowl because they were no longer on the counter. He picked up the bottles and the wrapped foil and followed after her.

Once outside, he heard Mike ask, "How'd you like your steak, Eames?"

"Sorry, Logan, but I'm not staying. I'm going to have dinner with my family."

"Oh, okay. You'll be back later?"

"Yeah. Have a good time you guys."

"You too," Mike said.

Bobby just sat down at the table and picked up a cold bottle of beer out of the cooler that was sitting next to the table.

It wasn't until after Alex had been gone for a few minutes when Logan said, "You're upset that she left?"

"No, it was my idea for her to go."

"Then why'd you look like that?"

Bobby only shook his head and took a sip of the beer. He didn't know what Logan was talking about and he didn't want it to ruin his night.

"So, Yankees are leading the series 2 to 0. Think they can beat Boston at Fenway tomorrow night?"

If there was anything that could get him out of a foul mood, it was baseball. He smiled a little as he leaned back in the chair. Atticus surprised him by leaping up, putting his paws and head into his lap. He mindlessly petted his dog as he went over why he thought the Yankees were going to sweep the Red Socks.

They continued to talk and enjoy their night, keeping their conversations to anything other than work and Alex, before Logan finally told him he was leaving. Both dogs were inside, the leftover food was put away, and the dishes were in the dishwasher. Bobby told Mike to drive safe as he followed him to the door. Once he was gone, he shut the door and locked only the deadbolt. Alex had the key so he wasn't worried about her not being able to get in.

He didn't hear the dogs running around so he figured they were asleep. They had stayed busy and played for most of the day so he wasn't surprised. Going into his study, he grabbed a file that contained all the information he'd been putting together for the case and took it with him to the bedroom.

After he showered, brushed his teeth, and got ready for bed which only consisted of him wearing a pair of loose sweats over a pair of boxer shorts, he laid up in his bed as he went over the file from front to back until he was convince that he'd had missed something. But it wasn't just him, it was also the police. Once he started thinking about the case with it in mind that Atwood was the key, that he had been the main target to begin with, it started to develop differently and more questions ensued.

Questions he had to get to the bottom of before the trial started. Tomorrow he would meet with Hugh Crawford himself. He would also meet up with his client again afterwards. He also wanted to talk to Kim Cohen, so he made a mental note to have Logan track her down for him. He also wanted Logan to talk to the suspect Alex had told him about earlier. He would go to Queens Memorial tomorrow and talk with Gary Holder himself.

Sometime later, after he got tired and was lying in bed thinking, he heard the door open upstairs. Shifting in the bed, he stilled and listened. He heard her walking up the stairs before silence. She had gone up to the top floor. Minutes later he heard the water being turned on in the old house. He heard a noise that was much closer as his dog came into the room and jumped onto the bed.

Atticus huffed out before collapsing next to him, laying his head on his chest. Then he heard Odyssey enter but he didn't jump up to the bed, but Bobby knew he was waiting, staring at him with anticipating eyes.

Sighing, Bobby said, "C'mon, Odyssey, up."

The dog jumped onto the bed and curled up by his feet.

Despite the fact that there were two dogs in his bed keeping him company, he'd never felt so alone. The water stopped running a while later. Bobby imagined that Alex had taken a shower, and she was now drying her hair and preparing for bed. He knew it was cooler up there and wondered if she would turn the gas fireplace on to keep her warm.

He knew that after spending time with her son that she was probably really missing him now. It was only human nature. He didn't know everything about her yet, but he knew that she was a loving mother. He could understand that.

"Atticus," he said as he pulled his dog up. Atticus was barely moving, almost dead weight in his arms and he normally would've laughed but not this time. "Atticus, go find Alex."

Atticus started to move but stopped.

"Go," he almost yelled at his dog.

Atticus whined softly before jumping down. It didn't take long for Odyssey to jump off the bed to follow his buddy.

* * *

Alex sighed as she rolled over and gripped the other pillow that was in the bed. She was glad she got to have dinner with Joey and Liz and Nate. They had a great time at the pizza place they meet up at. Joey told her all about school and how Amanda liked the flowers he'd gotten her. He asked again if they were going to spend time together tomorrow like she'd promised. Alex had forgotten she had told Barek they would work on the case tomorrow. She would work it out, she always did.

It was hard to sleep when she felt like such a horrible mother. Joey would tell her she wasn't, but that didn't make the feeling go away.

Hitting the pillow, she rolled back onto her back and rubbed at her eyes. She wasn't getting any sleep and didn't think she would ever get comfortable. Then she heard a noise and looked into the dark room. A glow from the light pole outside was enough to cast a greyish light over the room and she saw the source of the noise. Two dogs were staring at her from the foot of the bed.

"Atticus?"

The dog jumped up and laid down next to her and the other, Odyssey, followed but curled up at the foot of the bed.

She went to ask the dog why he wasn't with Bobby, but realized that would've been stupid. It wasn't like the dog could answer. Petting over the dog, she was able to finally relax. She smiled slightly and thought that maybe Bobby had sent the dogs up to her because he knew she needed to company. That got her to thinking how sweet of a gesture it was, and how nice Bobby was, which led to remember how he'd kissed her before.

Trying not to think too much about it, she slid out of bed; the dogs could have it.

Going down the four flights, she went through the study and kitchen to the hallway that led to the bedroom. There still wasn't a replacement door but due to lack of light she couldn't see anything in the room.

Stopping just inside the doorframe, she asked softly into the darkness, "Bobby?"

"Alex?" he asked in confusion. "I didn't hear you."

She continued into the room and saw the outline of the bed as her eyes finally adjusted to the dark. She could make out his form in the bed as he shifted up. "Mind if I come in?"

"You're already in," he said softly as she sat on the edge of the bed.

They were both quiet for a long moment after that. Alex really didn't know what she was doing, or thinking, by coming down there. She just felt so alone, missing her son, and Bobby was being so nice to her. It had been a while since the last time she had dated a man, yet alone been with one. It had been months since her last date but almost a year since she'd been intimate. She didn't know what Bobby's track record was, but that didn't matter to her.

She reached out and touched his face and he immediately brought his hand up to cover hers. Moving closer to him, she felt how rapid his breathing suddenly became. Bobby moved her hand down to his chest; she felt his warm skin and the light tickle of hair along with his pounding heart. He reached out tentatively to her; she took his hand and placed it to her face as she turned to kiss his palm.

Moving his hand to the back of her head, he brought her forward as he moved to meet her. His lips found hers and she found herself pushing into him and pulling him to her at the same time. His kiss was so passionate and desperate that it matched her yearning. As they kissed, his hands were caressing her everywhere, causing her to quiver with every touch. It was electrifying the way he made her feel. No man since Joe had ever done this to her.

Rolling her onto her back, he moved his lips to her face, her neck, and then over her chest as he moved her tank top up. He was going achingly slow, taking his time, and exploring every part of her. When he got to her legs, she sat up and pulled the tank top off. Bobby slid down her shorts and panties and tossed them somewhere before kissing at the inside of her thigh. She wasn't complaining because it felt so good. It was like he was getting to know every spot on her body and it was invigorating. By the time he kissed her between the legs, she was trembling to come. Then he worked two fingers in and she caught her breath and started to shake.

She had yet to make a sound as her breath caught in her throat. And Bobby wasn't making it easy as he drove his tongue into her. She was going to die and Bobby was going to be the death of her. Bobby relinquished her and sat back take his sweats and shorts off. Then he started kissing his way back up her body, keeping his body firmly pressed into hers as he crawled up.

"Bobby," Alex said after she sucked in a deep breath. The anticipating pleasure was building in her, spending hot waves through her body as her muscles clenched and unclenched. She wanted to come again and this time she wanted to feel him in her. "Bobby, please…" her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head up.

He didn't say anything as he slowly leaned down until his lips touched her forehead. As he kissed over her face again, his knees spread her legs open. She felt him against her; he was so hard, and big, but she was ready for him. "Yes, please," her voice quivered again.

He entered her slowly, being as gentle as possible. God, he was so big, she thought again but this time she felt herself stretch around him as he filled her deeply. Her moans turned into gasps of pleasure, and some pain due to how long it's been, at the sensations that wrecked through her body. His fingers were rubbing over her thigh and up her side, over her breasts; it distracted her as he pushed in harder before pulling out painfully slow.

Her body was on fire from the tip of her curled toes up to her flushed face as Bobby took his time making love to her. Between his own gasps of pleasure he kissed over every spot of skin he could reach and traced his fingertips over every spot that his lips couldn't touch. The sounds and words she was making were incomprehensible; to her they were mumbling nonsense that urged him on.

Bobby increased his gentle rocking as she went to open her mouth to beg him to go faster, harder. She was nearing the edge, feeling her thighs quiver against his sides as the flames consumed her whole being, clenching her muscles.

"Alex," Bobby grunted out against her neck. His voice was strained and deep as he whispered against her ear, "I…I'm," he gasped out and couldn't finish as his thrusts became choppy and erratic.

Alex couldn't hold out any longer; she slammed down hard into him as he pushed hard into her and felt everything collapse. A current of pleasure shook through her body. She heard Bobby's voice choke back his words as he jerked a couple more times into her before stilling, filling her with everything he had. Her body shivered with his as they rode through the ecstasy together.

Her eyes were blurry and she saw white spots as she opened them, looking up at the ceiling. Bobby had his face buried into her neck, his breathing harsh and thick as he tried to calm it down. It took a moment, but she was finally able to breathe easier as she ran her hands over his back. She liked the way his body felt; he was strong and well-toned, testament to his workout routine with Logan. There was such a thing as too much muscle but Bobby was elegant in his look. And his body was better to cuddle with as she wrapped her arms around him.

He rolled them both onto their sides and held her back as he finally pulled out of her. She moaned at the loss but buried herself against him as he covered them with the blanket. Aside from feeling warm and satisfied, she didn't remember much afterwards as she drifted off to sleep.

TBC…


End file.
